


Klance from Tumblr Textposts

by VulpesVulpes713



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Barista AU, Basketball AU, Hunger Games AU, M/M, Neighbours AU, So many AUs, Voltron, Youtube AU, fallen angel AU, just ficlets from tumblr, klance, klance fluff, may contain angst, mermaid au, personal trainer au, placed as chapters since i'm too lazy to make another series, text posts, this is for all the people asking me to do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: Just as the title says, this is just the place I'll start posting some of my textposts from Tumblr, as they tend to get lost in my feed.Enjoy :)





	1. University Neighbours au

Klance as University residence ‘neighbours’, meaning Lance lives in one building and Keith lives in the other directly across from him. They don’t know each other. They don’t interact. The school is massive and the class sizes huge.

But one day Lance is high and bored after a midterm and decides to use the sticky notes he bought at the beginning of the semester for some fun. He goes over to the window and writes out backwards so the people outside can read it:  **SINGLE AND WANTING PRINGLES.**

He passes out after that, and the next afternoon when he walks into his living room he gets to live out the embarrassment his high prevented at the time. He moves to take down the sticky notes, and sees someone has written a response in the window across the way.

**ALSO SINGLE BUT PRINGLES ARE SHIT.**

Which is just unacceptable. Lance rearranges his sticky notes to leave another message.

**WHAT KIND OF DEMON HATES PRINGLES?**

And he goes to class, getting back late and not really expecting any sort of response. But at this point there are a few more replies on nearby windows, showing smiley faces or questions he doesn’t care enough to read. What  _does_  get his attention however, is the response from that same room, which as Lance laughing as he reads it.

**THE ONE THAT THOUGHT 8AM LABS WERE MANAGEABLE.**

_So they’re in the sciences…_ Lance deduces, wondering if he knows the person. He waits to see if anyone appears in the window, but eventually his homework needs doing. He sighs and gives up, writing a quick:  **THAT SUCKS BRO**  before retreating to his room. 

The next morning he’s greeted with a middle finger made of sticky notes, and chuckles to himself as he takes a picture for memories.

He arranges his stickies into a kissy face and goes about his day, and the week passes with increasingly hilarious exchanges.

Lance will write out a  **GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!**  only to get a  **IT’S 2PM**  in return.

 **I CHOSE AFTERNOON LABS** , he’d replied with a laugh, and after coming home had nearly choked at the  **FUCK YOU**  waiting on the other’s window.

**BUY ME DINNER FIRST?**

**I DON’T DINE WITH PRINGLE EATERS.**

**AT LEAST I GET TO SLEEP IN ;)**

**MEAN!!! >:0**

And on it had gone, greeting after greeting, flirt following flirt, jest for jest, and the days fly by.

Eventually, Saturday night comes, and Lance decides to try something different before heading out: just for the hell of it.

**PARTY DOWNTOWN, U GOING?**

He waits an hour and then leaves, coming back in the early morning drunk and giddy and eager to look out his window. But there’s no reply, so he mopes for a bit and passes out.

The next morning some of the sticky notes have fallen from the glass, and Lance recalls how he’d turned on the fan before collapsing on the couch, likely the cause behind the altered message that now reads:  **PA  Y   OWN         U           ?**

And Lance nearly dies. Because how  _awkward!_  And then he sees a new message waiting on the window of the other building, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so bad.

**I’M TOO EXPENSIVE FOR YOU DARLING.**

His head aches in hangover but that doesn’t stop him laughing loudly as he falls back on the couch. He grabs some water and tries to amend the situation as he giggles to himself, wondering who this person is with the unique sense of humour.

**HOW ABOUT LUNCH THEN?**

Because fuck it. He doesn’t care. And his question sparks a revolution on the school’s social media pages. Pictures of his and the stranger’s windows show up everywhere, and people begin wondering who it is that lives in each building. Lance takes to walking closer to the wall in case someone manages to snap a picture of him - thus exposing his identity and potentially ruining the game - but thankfully no one seems intent enough to stick around and wait.

The day passes - lunch coming and going - and Lance sits in misery as the message on the window beyond remains unchanged. Eventually other random people living above and beside the stranger begin answering, a few bright yellow  **YES!** ’s alerting Lance that at least  _someone_  is interested. But he doesn’t answer those. He waits. And he works. And then he games a bit because why not.

Come bedtime he chances another glance outside, and gasps as he sees something new  _finally_  written.

**SORRY! I WAS STUDYING ALL DAY!**

Giddy now as his growing disappointment fades, Lance goes about answering.

**WHAT A NERD. TOMORROW THEN?**

He showers, allowing the stranger to reply, and walks out to his living room to read a very promising note on the window.

**WHEN? :)**

_This is it,_  he thinks as he shifts the stickies around.  _This is it._

**HOW ABOUT NOON AT THE ALTEA?**

He falls asleep waiting, and wakes sometime in the morning to:  **DEAL.**

He’s excited now, and at quarter to noon he walks down to the campus coffee shop, wondering who he will see waiting. Only, when he gets there, a massive line leading outside the building greets him, and several people turn his way as he approaches.

“Is that him?” he hears whispered, and more eyes look. “When do you think they’ll show up?”

He stops dead in his tracks, realizing in horror that their messages were never private, and panics over what to do. His invite to coffee was likely seen by all who passed between their buildings, and Lance feels his chest constrict as his chances of meeting this person dwindle.

 _Oh god, this is hopeless!_   _What am I gonna do?!_

He can’t just leave, as that will look suspicious. And he can’t just walk up and ask who left the note, because how awkward would that be?!

So he settles on ignorance, and walks over to the nearest person in line. 

“Is this the wait for coffee?”

The person frowns as if Lance had just asked the most ridiculous question.

“Haven’t you heard about the Sticky Note Lovers?” they ask, and Lance pales – because  _what?! That’s_  what they’re calling us?! - but manages to come up with an excuse.

“Sure, but I’m just here for coffee. Also, you guys should give them privacy, this is kinda creepy.” Which feels good to say because it’s very much the truth. He walks past the line of overzealous students towards the counter, where a guy with an apron and an unenthused expression greets him.

“What can I get you,” he asks monotonal, and Lance huffs as he picks something random off the menu. The guy goes about making his drink, and Lance leans against the counter to subtly stare at each of the patrons who  _don’t_  look to be waiting for him to show up. No one catches his eye though, and he sighs audibly in frustration.

_I should have known. Of course they would freak out and leave. I should have done the same._

“You lookin for someone?” he’s suddenly asked, and whips around to face the barista, who is staring at him knowingly.

Lance ducks his head, kicking the ground idly.

“Um…not really, no.” He could come up with a better excuse, but finds he doesn’t have the heart for it. He’s disappointed, both with himself and with what looks to be the entire school population for having nothing better to do with their day. “I mean, not anymore at least.”

The barista hums to himself, tapping at Lance’s cup.

“Oh, sorry-“ Lance begins, realizing the guy must have been waiting with his drink for a while now. But as he reaches out to take it, the barista pulls back, taking the cup with him.

“My bad,” he apologizes. “Did you want whip?”

“Uh, no that’s oka-“ Lance starts, but cuts off as the barista – whose name he reads to be ‘Keith’ – takes the drink back behind the counter, disappearing from view as Lance blinks in confusion.

_Um…okay then?_

A moment later his cup is returned, and Keith slides it over with a warm smile that hadn’t been there when Lance had first approached.

“Thanks…” Lance says as he grabs a lid, and Keith waves when he heads towards the door.

“Oh, and be sure to take the cup back!” he calls just before Lance leaves. He turns back to the barista with a raised brow.

“Why?”

“It’s our new program,” Keith explains, shrugging. “If you take back the cup you get a discount on your next drink.”

“Oh!” Lance brightens, nodding his thanks. “Cool.”

He leaves, and wonders when the Altea started being so environmentally friendly.

He returns to his place and grabs his homework, intent on using his now free afternoon to study, seeing as his potential date was ruined. He glances back at the window before he goes, wondering if he’d passed the person without realizing it.

 _Probably not,_  he grumbles internally.  _No one felt right. They were all just there for a show._

He exhales in annoyance, and leaves.

He returns late at night, tired and ready to sleep, and doesn’t notice the new message waiting on the window across the way at first. In fact, it takes him a good hour before it catches his attention, and when he finally  _does_  read it he takes another long while to process the request.

**MEET ME AT THE PLACE ON THE CUP.**

_What…?_  He wonders, reading the sticky notes again. He’s about to write out his confusion when it hits him: the  _cup!_  The  _barista!_

 _No way!_ He thinks as he rushes over to his bag, pulling out the paper cup he’d been diligent enough to wash out and keep – anything for a discount – and bringing it over to the light. There’s nothing noticeable on the outside at first glance, but when Lance pulls down the sleeve he gasps at the message written in marker.

Some of the letters are smudged, but it’s easy enough to make out:

**_Greenhouse floor 2 @ midnight._ **

Which is in like, ten minutes. Lance blanks, somehow managing to fix his hair and brush his teeth before darting from his room towards the campus. He makes it to the first floor of the greenhouse and slows, calming his pulse as he heads over to the stairs that will take him up.

And he knows who he’ll see waiting this time, even before a familiar warm smile looks over his way. Lance freezes on the top step, and Keith – now in casual clothing and rid of the Altea apron - waves shyly. His hair is different, Lance notices. Before it had been tied up in a pony tail, and now it hangs loose at his shoulders.

_Broad shoulders…_

“Hi,” he welcomes, and Lance grins sheepishly as he joins him after a few seconds of staring. They sit on a bench between several large, tropical plants: the air hot but comfortable.

“So…” Lance twiddles his thumbs as he glances over, not having noticed before how cute Keith is. That button nose, those sharp cheekbones, the curious scar running up the side of his face. But it’s the eyes Lance finds himself focusing on, that is, until Keith looks away.

“So,” the boy repeats, a blush rising in his ears. All of Lance’s hesitation flees upon seeing that, and he leans back on the bench with a grin.

“So  _you’re_ the psychopath who hates Pringles.”

Keith gasps and shoots him an offended look, but then rolls his eyes when he sees Lance’s playful expression.

“And you’re the freakshow who wanted to pay for me. Makes sense. You kinda give off that vibe.”

“I  _what?!_ ” Lance balks, and then trails off as Keith laughs. Because it’s a kind sound, an enjoyable one. He feels his own face begin to heat, and wonders if he can blame the greenhouse for his rosy cheeks. “Ah. You’re a  _funny_  guy then.”

“I remember you using ‘nerd’,” Keith answers smoothly, and Lance edges just a little closer as they laugh.

“Hey,” Lance asks as their chuckles trail off, looking over at Keith with a tilted head. “Why did you agree to coffee if you were working?”

Keith flushes again, fiddling with his jacket as he answers.

“I kinda wanted to see what you looked like first.”

Lance blinks, taken aback.

“So if you didn’t think I was hot you were just gonna ignore me?!” he exclaims half-jokingly, and Keith lifts his shoulders in dismissal.

“More like, if you turned out to be a girl.”

 _Oh…_ Lance thinks slowly, and then it hits him.  _OH!_

“That’s…actually smart,” he admits, realizing bisexuality wasn’t the default. There existed an array of individuals with unique orientations that he’d neglected to consider, and he thanks the stars that Keith just so happened to prefer men. Granted, another straight guy friend would be cool and all, but Lance is more than pleased with this outcome. Because Keith is hot, and Lance finds himself already falling.

“I have a feeling that cup discount isn’t real,” he says after a moment of thought, and Keith smiles apologetically, thick brows tipping upward in genuine guilt.

“I had to make sure you kept it…”

“I mean,” Lance shrugs smugly. “It definitely worked. Though I was kinda looking forward to that cheap coffee.”

Keith bites his lower lip, glancing over at Lance coyly.

“I can make it up to you with a free drink, how about that?”

“You asking me out on a date?” Lance lifts a brow, relishing in the way Keith shies away.

“It’s not like I’m the first to ask,” he mumbles, and Lance shamelessly tosses his arm over the back of the bench, resting it a mere few centimeters from Keith’s shoulders.

“True,” he admits smoothly. “But thinking back, you kinda owe me lunch as well.”

“How about dinner?” Keith suggests suddenly, and Lance stares over at him in startled amusement.

“It’s midnight. Nothing will be open.”

Keith shrugs, foot tapping on the ground nervously.

“I can cook.”

“Really?” Lance questions, hating the way his voice rises in shock. But Keith doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he smiles again as he returns his attention to Lance’s face.

“Depends,” he stands, holding out a hand for Lance to take. “Do you like macaroni?”

Lance blinks, and then he finds himself laughing as he reaches out to accept Keith’s hand. He jumps to his feet, squeezing their fingers together and nods.

“It’s practically my favourite meal.”

And they leave the greenhouse together, returning to Keith’s dorm where they stay for the rest of the night. There are no new messages the next morning, but Lance wakes up to a greeting regardless. And it’s much better than sticky notes anyway.

It’s a kiss, and Lance smiles sleepily as Keith stirs beside him, wondering what the school will think had happened, likely curious as to what the cup had apparently said.

But that’s not for them to know, and when Lance finally returns to his own room to shower, he finds himself face to face with a new note on the window he now knows to be Keith’s.

**U LEFT UR HOODIE HERE. MINE NOW.**

To which he laughs, shaking his head as he imagines Keith cozied up in his clothes, wearing nothing else but that warm smile. He answers with a large heart, letting anyone still interested in their story know that his is no longer available. 

He thanks the sticky notes for their service, and runs back to the room with the window across from his own, eager to be back with the guy who hates pringles. Deciding it’s acceptable if it’s Keith. Happy it was him who answered in the first place.


	2. Youtube au

Klance YouTube au but instead of them being beauty vloggers or ghost hunters or the typical roles we usually see, they’re in totally different genres.

Keith is one of those rage quit gamers who never shows his face and only posts sporadically but he had a huge following because all his videos get turned into memes somehow. Like he was doing a playthrough of Skyrim and was sneaking through a dungeon when a cave bear attacked out of nowhere and killed him. The unholy screeched rant about why bears are the most ridiculous part of the entire game spurred posts and links to his videos across the internet.

“Like what the fuck are they even eating way down there!? Fucking SPIDERS?!?!”

Basically, people find his content to be entertaining because of his attitude, and Keith is very animated when he games. No one knows what he looks like but they all agree that when he’s not yelling, cursing, or screaming, he has a very nice voice.

Now over to Lance.

Lance is your run of the mill Jenna Marbles YouTuber. He does everything and anything because “routine is a curse,” which becomes the slogan for most of his merch. He does a lot of challenges and makes up a lot of the trends that end up being big. He donates most of his proceeds to charities if he does longer videos, like “Living Like Link” where he taught sign language to his followers to raise awareness and donate to charities and organizations that specialize in speech therapy and sign teaching (his little cousin doesn’t speak much so everyone in his family supports her by using sign language to communicate). That earned him a lot of attention and a wide range of followers. But he also does stupid things like painting his whole body pink before going to buy groceries of the same colour.

Routine is a curse, as he says.

Anyway, the two don’t know each other at all. But Keith happened across one of Lance’s videos (the sign language one because of the title) and thought it was really cool that someone would put so much effort into a video series and make learning actually fun. So he begins to snoop around on Lance’s channel and is absolutely baffled by the variety of videos he has posted.

He subscribes and watches new updates weekly.

It’s during one of Lance’s newer videos where he’s dressing up as a raccoon to try and assimilate with the family of critters that are apparently living in his basement that Keith hears something familiar.

Lance is in the middle of drawing dark circles around his eyes ranting about the raccoons when he says “like what the fuck are they even eating way down there!? Fucking spiders?” and Keith almost has a heart attack.

Because that’s  _his_  line!  _He_  said that! Which means this Lance guy must have watched one of his videos!

So he comments “raccoons are almost as bad as bears” and waits.

And an hour later he gets a reply.

“Oh my god!!!!!!! REDRANTS watches my videos!!!”

Which blows up. The followers make it the most popular comment, and it becomes another new meme, and Keith is overwhelmed.

But that doesn’t stop him. In his next video, he’s building something on Minecraft in survival mode chopping trees as one does when he mumbles “well you know what they say, routine is a curse.”

Which goes over about as well as you would think.

Lance comments on the video: “I can’t believe you stole my line for Minecraft content!”, which gives Keith the proof he needed that the cute boy he’d been subscribed to for the past month is actually watching his stuff.

So the two become friends, commenting back and forth and stealing each other’s quotes until they do an accidental collab video where Lance tries playing Overwatch. He’s queued up and ready to go when a familiar gamertag pops up on the opposite team. And holy shit. He’s playing against REDRANTS!

Keith realizes it’s Lance right away given that his username is the same as his YouTube channel and spends the entire game throwing the match to find Lance (who is playing as Mercy because the wings are bomb af) to emote in front of him. Lance’s team is livid because he’s ignoring them and not healing - “I just like flying around don’t tell me what to do!” -  and over on Keith’s channel he’s cursing because he keeps getting killed every time he crosses enemy lines to find Lance - “I’m fucking DANCING let me LIVE you absolute DICKBRAINS!”. Eventually, he pops off and murders the whole team (as Lucio ha get rekt) and continuously waves at Lance’s character as they both sit on the payload.

The videos are immensely popular, and the fact that the two hadn’t meant to collab is even better.

Lance dies laughing while watching Keith’s side of things, and Keith is impressed that Lance actually managed to stay alive for as long as he did given that he wasn’t doing anything. Plus Lance has really witty commentary. It has him chuckling as he watches.

By request of their fans, the two collab for real. They play Overwatch again but this time they’re on the same team. It’s the first time they’ve had a real conversation and you can obviously tell both boys are flustered upon hearing the other speak.

It’s sort of awkward but it gets better once the game starts. Keith keeps making Lance laugh because he screams with every death, and Lance encourages his teammates with doting lines and sayings that Keith finds too funny to handle.

It’s when Lance revives Keith with a sing-song “I got you boo” that Keith just lets it slip.

“Oh my God I love you!”

He doesn’t think much of it because it’s something everyone says once resurrected by Mercy, but Lance laughs nervously and runs off.

Keith realizes later when he’s editing the footage and sends Lance an all caps apology saying he hadn’t meant to weird him out or anything. Lance answers that he’s embarrassed to admit he got flustered after hearing that, and the two sort of start talking more and end up exchanging numbers and Snapchat and when Lance  _finally_ gets to see what Keith looks like he almost passes out because hot damn son. Hot. Motha. Heckin. Damn.

They only really collab on Keith’s channel because Keith lives in a different city and he’s never shown any of his followers his face, but eventually, Lance persuade him to do a challenge with him. 

The challenge is “who can find who first?” and takes place in the airport Keith flies into when he first comes to visit. Lance vlogs the whole thing, but it’s Keith who wins, scaring Lance by the Starbucks and earning a startled yelp that has security coming over to check up on things. The two laugh it off and it’s comfortable and not awkward and just really nice. They’re like old friends who’ve known each other for years. And it’s Keith’s official face reveal, complete with kitty cat sleeping mask and tired eyes, baggy hoodie and luggage with Spider-Man on it. 

Lance thinks he might be slightly in love. Plus Keith is an inch or so taller, which Lance definietly approves of, though he makes a few comments about it for the sake of his vlog. They make several videos togehter, and the community loves them. They compliment each other nicely - what with Lance’s calming wit and Keith’s explosions of frustration when he can’t figure out the makeup he’s supposed to be putting on Lance’s face for a challenge. It’s oddly hilarious and the response they get is amazing. 

And yeah I guess they start a collab channel and eventually start dating and I’ll end this here cuz I could go on for years about them as YouTubers. 

* * *

People know they’re together even before they start officially dating. Hell, they know even before Lance and Keith know they’re together! They can’t really get much from evidence of this from Keith’s videos as he doesn’t show his face, but the amount of scrutiny Lance gets is almost laughable.

A screenshot will emerge with a single frame in one of Lance’s videos with a hair brush that is made for a different hair type than his. So it has to be Keith’s, right? (It actually belongs to his sister but Lance doesn’t correct anyone.)

A picture will be posted on Instagram with a shadow people think is Keith’s (which actually happened to some YouTubers before).

Lance’s phone will light up mid filming and people will be zooming in trying to see who the message is from, wondering what the two little red hearts could mean.

It’s endless, the rumours, but Keith and Lance ignore them. They continue to make their videos and do their collabs.

But they’re finally forced to confess when Lance is seen wearing one of Keith’s sweaters that he wore in their very first video together. Lance doesn’t know how his followers managed to remember that small detail, but he’s impressed that they do months after the fact.

So they make a video on their shared channel wearing each others merch and reveal the truth everyone already knew. That they’re dating. And yes it’s going well. And yes they’re happy thanks for asking. And no they will not disclose who tops and who bottoms, which is a question that has them both blushing furiously and refusing to meet each others eyes for a good minute.

And it’s great because before they were trying to be so careful because it was all new and fragile but now they can post without worry. Lance’s Instagram is basically a blog about Keith. They aren’t scared to be lovey dovey in videos and make comments like “babe” and “sweetums” and “my miniature beast of burden”.

It’s cute but it’s never over the top. The content they make is still top quality, only now they can sit closer on the couch and hold hands in public.

And they’re very open about their relationship and tell stories about how they figured out who they were when people ask. They’re role models for many, and they love it.

But more importantly they love each other, and it shows.


	3. Barista au

Y'all love the barista/patreon klance aus where one works behind the counter and memorizes the others order, but how bout two boys who happen to wander into a coffee shop at the same time, exchanging glances while they study at different tables, smiling shyly until finally one has to leave.

So Lance goes back the next day at the same time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cute stranger with the chai tea latte, but he’s not there. He orders and sits and decides he’ll study since he’s here anyway.

And right when he gets up to leave - mid opening the door to go out - there he is. Right in front of him. Hand on the handle and pulling where Lance pushes. And they stand for a moment and stare, until the stranger smiles and moves aside to let Lance pass.

He nods as he goes, cursing himself for not reading one more chapter.

And when he turns back he sees his reflection in the glass, and maybe the outline of someone staring back.

So the next day he returns. And again he’s not there. He asks the baristas if someone with dark hair and beautiful eyes had come in at all, and they share knowing glances as they begin to catch on. They tell him to try again tomorrow, and he does.

He brings more material to work on this time, and cozies up in the corner to wait.

An hour goes by. Then another. His alarm goes off and it’s time to go.

He stands, gathering his things, and guess who walks in.

Lance is flabbergasted. The baristas are gossiping. And the stranger spots him with his coat on and his bag packed and asked if he just got there.

“Just leaving, actually,” Lance replies, as much as he wants to say the opposite. He had a class to attend, and an assignment to turn in.

“Next time then,” the stranger smiles, and Lance nods as he leaves.

Only he doesn’t make it the next day. He gets called into work, and has no time to stop by at the usual time. But when his shift ends he hurries over regardless, and knows just from the look on the baristas faces that he’s missed him once again.

“By just a few minutes,” they tell him. “He was waiting for most of the afternoon.”

“Shoot,” Lance mumbles, and they tell him tomorrow for sure.

So he nods, and leaves.

It goes on for weeks: the two always missing each other, never there at the same time. The baristas know all about it, and each time one comes in they have to be the bearers of bad news.

“He just left.”

“I think today he has class.”

“If only you were here an hour ago!”

It’s exhausting. It’s draining. But Lance doesn’t give up. He’s invested too much now to fathom the option. He really just wants to see that shy smile again.

So he goes back - order already made - and sets up in his usual spot. But he’s tired today, having stayed up late to study for an exam, and finds himself dozing as the afternoon wears on.

He wakes as a cup is placed in front of him, the sound so ceramic against glass enough to jar him from his sleep, and shoots upright with an apology at the ready to whichever barista is standing there.

But it’s  _not_  a barista who smiles down at him, grin crooked and eyes bright. It’s his stranger, who gestures at the seat at Lance’s side.

“May I?” he asks, and Lance can only nod.

“I’m glad we finally get to see each other again,” he goes on, extending a hand for Lance to shake. “I’m Keith by the way, and I’m gonna need to see your phone.”

Lance blinks his way back to cognition at that.

“Why?”

And Keith winks, leaning his cheek on his arm as he lays his head down on the table to stare up at Lance.

“Because I’m getting tired of asking the baristas if the handsome guy with ocean eyes and the cutest smile I’ve ever seen has been in to grab his mocha.”

Lance blushes, and in the background the girls behind the counter stifle their giggles.

“So you were doing that too, eh?” he laughs, and Keith beams so brightly it almost hurts to look at. And yet…Lance could never fathom looking anywhere else.

“And because now that I finally get to see you again,” Keith continues, that same shy smile playing at his lips, “I’m not letting you walk out of here without my number. Not again. Not anymore. So what do you say, you wanna grab a coffee?”

Lance grins, biting his lower lip as he hands over his phone and glances down at the drink by his hand.

“Looks like you already got that covered.”

Keith shrugs bashfully, handing back Lance’s cell with a new contact added, and stands.

“Then how about dinner?”

Lance feels his cheeks warm, but already he’s gathering up his things, not bothering to hide his very evident joy.

“How about it indeed,” he answers, and is met with rosy cheeks and a ducked head: Keith blushing as he helps Lance with his books.

Before they leave Lance walks over to the counter with the drink Keith brought him, leaning in to whisper at one of the baristas.

“Can I get this to go?”

She nods, eyes darting between him and Keith, wishing him good luck as she hands over the cup. And when the two leave she and her coworker squeal and dance around, because finally.

_Finally!_

These two love struck dorks were able to meet.

And they set up a secret note system for their future customers to use: a system that allows people to leave letters or contact information for others they see at the café.

Because fuck dude, that was painful.

Cute, yes. But never again.


	4. Braiding Hair post (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what

Lance braids Allura’s hair when he’s stressed or bored. It gives his hands something to do and Allura loves the mindless gossip, so it becomes a thing they do routinely.

One day she asks if he can teach her to do it, but it’s hard to show someone how to braid on their own hair.

Conveniently Keith walks by just then, and a look of mutual approval is shared between the blue paladins.

It takes some convincing, but eventually Keith ends up sitting on a pile of pillows near the bed while Lance goes over where to part the hair for a standard braid; Allura watching intently beside him with her own strands of Keith’s mullet in hand.

And Keith wants to be grumpy about it; say he’s not a doll for them to mess with and has more important things to do. But having someone play with his hair and murmur softly behind him is comforting and just really  _really_  nice.

Plus they can’t see his face heat whenever Lance’s fingers stroke over his cheek or neck while gathering up more hair, so that’s a bonus.

Needless to say he ends up falling asleep totally relaxed and with several braids in his hair, and Allura makes sure to capture a few photos for blackmail in the future.

Neither wants to wake him though, so Lance carries him to bed.

Keith wakes up the next morning with incredibly curly hair and it’s so adorable that Lance and Allura vow to braid his hair every night to obtain the same results.

Keith can’t even argue. He just nods and smiles and tries to pretend he’s not as thrilled as he is.

* * *

Part 2 as per request because I’m bored:

The braiding buddies, as they call themselves (Lance. It’s all Lance), meet up nearly every night before bed. It’s habit now. Ritual almost.

Lotor once asked if he could join in.

Didn’t end well, though Allura sort of felt bad for him and sent the mice to his chambers to braid his hair for him.

Lotor woke up with a literal rats nest and refused to leave his room the entire day until proper conditioner was found and delivered to remove all the knots.

Allura still feels horrible about it, though it’s not her fault the mice were used to working with her type of hair over Lotor’s. Lance almost pees himself from laughing so hard.

Anyway, one night Allura cancels on account of a diplomatic meeting being prolonged, but Keith and Lance don’t get the memo until after meeting up.

They sort of stand in the room awkwardly, not having realized Allura was the buffer until now.

But Lance slaps on a smile and gestures for Keith to sit, which he does only after a moment of nervous hesitation.

The conversation is limited, seeing as Keith used to just make tiny sounds of agreement whenever asked an opinion or question while the other two gossiped. He’s not used to contributing anything. He just wants his hair played with.

But without Allura Lance is quiet, and Keith realizes that he misses the sound of his voice in the background. How relaxed and passionate and smooth it could be…it was part of the whole process that made his muscles turn to goo and allowed him to sink into the pillows and truly rest.

So he asks why Lance isn’t talking, and Lance sort of chuckles while he admits that he isn’t sure what to say.

“Anything,” Keith hears himself mumble, and the fingers running through his hair pause for a second.

But then they’re moving again, nails trailing over his scalp and sending pleasant shivers down his neck, and Keith bites back the sigh that builds in his throat.

And when Lance speaks it’s more of a confession than a topic.

“The silence is nice sometimes,” he says. “I don’t feel like I need to fill it with you.”

If Keith wasn’t melting before he’s an absolute puddle now.

“But if you want,” Lance goes on, “I could sing something…”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Keith answers, a little too quickly. Again he’s grateful his face is hidden.

Lance starts off with a hum, and Keith’s eyes close as he drifts contently, feeling his body relax into the floor and Lance’s legs, where his torso is nestled between. And when the lyrics start it takes Keith a moment to realize they aren’t English.

But it’s nicer this way he thinks. Spanish is a lovely language, and when spoken as a whispered tune the song is melodic and soothing, and it’s not long before Keith is once again fast asleep.

He wakes the next morning with a smile, and wonders if it’s the same one he fell asleep with.

* * *

Lance once offered to teach Keith how to braid his own hair, but he refused.

Said it was easier to let someone else do it.

Which was only partly true. The real reason was because he was scared that if he knew how to braid his own hair that Lance and Allura would stop doing it for him, and their meetups would end.

He likes the sessions too much to risk that happening.

But luckily Lance doesn’t push the matter, and only makes a few jests about him being a lazy freeloader.

Keith does, however, make a request one day to have Lance braid his hair back before a mission.

“So it doesn’t get all tangled under the helmet,” he lies. In reality he’s incredibly apprehensive about the job and just needs the comfort of Lance’s fingers on his scalp.

He’s addicted he thinks, but there are worse things in life to develop a dependency on.

He also makes a point of growing out his hair more so it takes Lance and Allura longer to put braids in it. Plus the added length let’s them experiment more with different styles, which Keith doesn’t mind so much.

Especially when they result in knots, because the attention he receives trying to get them out is worth the pain of pulled hair.

Lance also tends to kiss anything he’s hurt.

Unfortunately he hasn’t figured out that Keith and his hair are the same thing, and a kiss to his lips would be a thousand times more effective than one a failed braid.

Keith didn’t know until then that he could be jealous of something growing out of his own head.


	5. Personal Trainer au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](http://38sr.tumblr.com/post/180292367764/klance-au-in-which-lance-is-in-search-for-a) by 38sr

Maybe it’s the pent up frustration.

The disappointment from meeting yet another failed Tinder rendezvous whose profile pic was either  _far_  outdated or else photoshopped to the nines.

Maybe it’s the low that accompanies having one’s hopes too high: that sensation of standards slowly sinking to accommodate the obvious lack of adequate sustenance.

Maybe it’s the feeling of ‘fuck it’ that has Lance hanging up on Hunk mid warning - words falling on empty ears as his eyes lock on the shining beacon of salvation running across the way. Black hair…black tank…smooth pale skin over toned muscle that Lance  _yearns_  to colour and explore with his lips…

And…yeah. Maybe in the end it’s just the hormones, but either way, it has Lance moving.

This is his saving grace: his last hope in mankind. Thoughts of wanting shout loud and shameless in his head and have him standing from his seat in the café, coffee forgotten and left half full as he darts out the door and towards the stranger.

Because he’s had enough of this. He can’t take being alone any longer. It’s unrighteous. Sinful.

How can  _he_  of all people - looking like he does and being who he is - still not have someone to call his own?!

It’s outrageous is what it is, and Lance thinks it’s about time to take matters into his own hands.

Besides, how much clearer could this sign be?

He’d been in the middle of whining to his best bud about his upsetting love life, cursing the heavens for sending him stale hot-dog men when he’d prayed for steak, and what comes bouncing along just outside? Arms flexed and quads straining in tight pants and loose shorts? Long hair pulled in a high pony that swings teasingly with each step, begging to be pulled?

It’s his sign. His answer. God is real and she’s sent him an angel, and now all Lance has to do is catch him.

Only…ha. That’s the funny part. Or is it cruel? Despite having the toned body of a swimmer -  granted to him by genetics and a speedy metabolism - Lance finds he easily loses sight of his wingless wonder. He’s not fast enough to catch up: not able to support the lung capacity needed to maintain such a speed for longer than a few minutes.

And by minutes he means one  _singular_  minute.

And by one singular minute he means like…thirty seconds of sprinting and then a staggering jog as his side erupts in pain.

A cramp, which he blames on the coffee to prevent his pride from taking too heavy a blow.

_Jesus…am I that out of shape?!_

But the thought disintegrates as he watches his light fade in the distance: carried by a wind that sounds vaguely like mocking laughter.

He takes it back. God is a dick, sending him something so remarkable and then pulling it out of his reach so quick.

Rude.

Just downright disrespectful.

And Lance crumples to the pavement - dramatically. Not like, in pain or anything, which he’s not. Ignore the hand pinching into his side and the laboured breathing that follows.

Those are symptoms of heartbreak. Nothing else.

Now if only that barista thought the same.

“Are you alright?”

Lance’s head jerks in the direction of the woman standing outside of the café he’d just so hastily left, holding his coffee in one hand while the other rests on her hip.

She looks concerned, but in an amused sort of way. Lance wonders if she’s evaluating his stamina, or lack thereof.

“I’m…fine,” he exhales, standing with a wave to show it’s nothing. But he can’t go through with it. He’s distracted. And he swears he can smell the perfume of the guy who’d run into and out of his life so abruptly. It’s like…Old Spice and Tide, mixed with something muskier that Lance pretends isn’t sweat. He sighs, feeling his heart sink as he mourns the loss of their would-be encounter.

“Do you know Keith?”

His eyes snap back to the woman, who’s crossed the street to be at his side, tilting her head in the direction the stranger - his wonder boy - had gone.

“Who?”

“Keith,” she repeats, smile oddly knowing. “He’s been running this way for the past few days. I think he’s scouting a route for the newcomers.”

Lance’s confusion must be evident on his face, as she snorts - cute - and rolls her eyes.

“You know, for the Ganes program at Altea Gym?”

“The gains….what now?”

“It’s a pun,” the woman chuckles, and Lance reads her name tag to be Colleen. “It’s a program run by two guys. Keith-” she gestures in the direction Lance’s million dollar man ran off in, “-and Takashi. Their last names both have the ‘gane’ spelling in them, which was turned into a play on ‘gain’ as in G-A-I-N,” she spells out, “to match their workout program at the gym.” She laughs again, and Lance smiles awkwardly in perplexion, lost in the conversation. “It’s quite funny actually, and it’s fairly accurate. I’ve been putting on muscle ever since joining! My husband-”

“So they’re like, personal trainers?” Lance cuts in, feeling only mildly guilty. He has priorities that don’t include listening to this woman’s backstory.

She nods, showing no sign of annoyance with having been interrupted.

“Takashi usually runs it, but ever since the accident Keith’s been the one in charge. It looked like you knew him from the way you bolted from your seat, but maybe I misunderstood-”

“Oh, no-” Lance hurries, face flushing as he notices the way the Colleen’s eyes narrow suspiciously. Too late he realizes how creepy he must have looked, chasing after some rando like a hooligan. “I…know him.”

_Or…I want to anyway…_

“Really?” she asks, but it’s not so much doubt as shock that colours her voice. “I’m surprised he didn’t stop then. He’s not one ignore clients. But then again, Keith tends to get into a mode when he runs. You can’t really get through to him once he starts, but it motivates you to work just as hard. I’ve been going to their program for months now and I feel amazing.” She trails off, eyes moving up and down his body as she frowns. “But I’ve never seen you there before-”

“I’m thinking of signing up,” Lance explains -  _lies -_  hastily, mending the hole in his fib before it can tear the whole thing apart. “I just wanted to ask him a question or two.”

Which…isn’t  _entirely_ false. It’s just the questions Lance had been planning where not at all related to the gym. They involved working up a sweat, maybe, but yeah. No gym.

Still, if this is the only way to meet this guy again, then he’ll do it. And besides, after that pathetic attempt at a sprint - a failure Lance is reminded of due to the lingering throb in his side - maybe joining a gym isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“How exciting!” The woman cheers, clapping her hand against his coffee cup in glee.  “I have a brochure in the shop if you want,” she offers, steering him back towards the café. “I get a discount for recruiting new members, so be sure to mention my name when you call!”

“Oh, sure. Thanks,” Lance smiles, taking the pamphlet he’s handed once back at the till. The woman gives him his coffee as well, which he takes despite it having grown cold. “And his name was Keith, right?” he asks, gesturing outside with his thumb to the place they’d just been.

The woman frowns, which is a reaction Lance hadn’t expected.

“I thought you said you knew him…”

_Shit. Right-_

“I do! Yeah. Um, we’re in some of the same classes at university, so I’ve seen him around.”

He thinks he sells it, mostly because it’s almost all true. He  _does_  go to university. And he  _does_  share a lot of classes with guys with black hair and pale skin.

He just doesn’t know if this Keith guy is one of them. Surely he would have noticed someone like that before though…

“I didn’t know Keith went to school,” the woman ponders, and Lance panics as he tries to come up with a more solid platform for his lie to rest upon. But then she smiles, and waves him off with a hand. “But then again, he doesn’t talk much about his personal life outside of the gym, so who am I to know.”

_Thank god._

“Right, yeah,” Lance smiles, nodding as he heads towards the exit.

“What school is it?”

He pauses, and his hesitation is misinterpreted as discomfort, as Colleen rushes to clarify.

“My son recently graduated from the tech department at VAU, and my daughter is looking into doing the same program this coming September.”

“Oh,” Lance smiles, relief washing over him. He’d been worried for a second that this Colleen lady was about to fact-check him on everything. But this? He can answer this easily enough. And some truth to the conversation might clear up his conscience.

“I go to VAU, yeah. But I’m studying bioengineering so I don’t know much about the tech program.”

“Wow, that sounds impressive!” Colleen muses, and Lance feels his face warm with pride.  

“My friend is studying robotics though, so I could ask him if he knows. I think he has to take some tech related classes for that degree.” He’s not sure why he’s suddenly feeling so chatty, but Colleen’s smile fills him with gratitude. Plus she  _totally_  helped him clasp onto those few dwindling straws that represent his love life: giving him another chance with the mystery guy sent to him by the universe itself. He kinda owes her for that. “I’ll get him to send me some info that I can pass onto you.”

“That would be amazing!” Colleen gushes. “Thank you!”

“No problem,” Lance shrugs, acting nonchalant despite the bubbles of good karma rising in his chest. “Thank  _you_  for helping with  _this_ , _”_ he waves the gym pamphlet for emphasis, bringing Colleen’s attention back to the original subject. “I’ll be sure to mention your name when I sign up.”

“Better do it quick! Classes fill fast,” Colleen warns, but her smile is kind as he opens the door of the shop. “I hope to see you again.”

“Thanks. You too,” Lance waves and steps back out onto the street. He rounds the corner to be out of view from the windows, pulling out his phone to Google the address of the gym on the pamphlet. 

It’s not far: about a twenty minute walk from the café, which Lance figures is manageable and completely worth it if it means seeing that guy again. He chuckles to himself as he leans against the brick wall, reading the small info blerb on the so-called ‘Ganes’ program and feeling immensely pleased with the turn of events.

**_GANES PROGRAM_ **

**_Where fitness meets focus! Train your body and mind with a program tailored to your individual skills. Tone muscles, shred fat, and clear your head with workouts chosen specifically for you by devoted trainers Takashi Shirogane and Keith Kogane._ **

Lance smirks, understanding now the pun behind the name of the program, and makes a mental note to try stalking some social media sites later on.

**_Call now to sign up and meet with trainers one-on-one._ **

_Perfect,_  Lance thinks to himself, giddy as he punches in the number. God is back on his side, and the universe seems to grinning down at him with enthusiasm as the phone rings in his ear.

 _“Altea Gym,”_ a voice answers, sounding bored and monotone - a complete contrast to Lance’s mood.  _“Are you ready to have your life changed?”_

Lance grins, biting his lower lip as he thinks back to that fleeting moment of utter bliss when his angel - this  _Keith -_ flew by that café window, right into his line of sight, straight into his thoughts: his very  _heart and soul!_

He stares down the street Keith vanished, and almost laughs as he answers.

“I think it already has.”


	6. Fallen Angel au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](http://maxiemaxxx.tumblr.com/post/179546983745/fallen-angel-au) by maxiemaxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have posted this as a fictober but I don't recall so just take it again

He’s had the earring for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t know where he got it, or from who.

He’d always assumed it was something he’d found in the depths of Hell long ago: something dropped from the worlds above.

It was small, bizarrely shaped, and a dazzling shade of blue that Keith liked to think would resemble the sky of the human realm. He’d only ever seen pictures in books, though those were faded beyond comparison. And the stories he’d heard from the people who ended up in the Underlands never spoke of the sky as one specific colour, so it was hard to tell.

He could never truly believe their words anyways, seeing as Hell was filled to the brim with liars. But he’d always been curious as to what made the patrons so inclined to tilt their heads upwards in times of strife, seeking something in the dark abyss above. They wouldn’t find it there, no matter how long they looked, as their eyes would drift back down eventually, crestfallen and broken.

It made Keith even more curious about the sky, and he’d chosen to believe that the earring he wore as a pendant was a piece of it. Shattered and discarded, like most of the things that ended up here.

And he’d kept it a secret, telling no one, and waving off whatever questions were asked. It wouldn’t look good to have a demon of Hell sporting a momento from the Upper worlds, and thought he had no real clue as to where it had come from, or the meaning behind it, or even if it was as precious as he liked to think it was, Keith wanted to keep it safe.

And for years he’d done just that. But it was difficult to hide something that shone like the tears of sinners that would collect into raging rivers, and eventually Keith had had to fashion a sort of pouch in which to hide it. He would only take out the earring on nights he was completely alone, to polish or just to hold. It gave off a warmth that was unlike any of the fires Keith knew. It was a soft heat, like the stones that bordered the pits of flame in the lower divisions.

Perhaps like the sun, though again, Keith had no real idea.

Whatever the case, it was his, and it was more valuable to him than any crown bestowed to the Princes. He cherished it more than the books in his mother’s study. Or the oak that had taken root in their gardens. It was his piece of sky, and when he held it he felt elevated, able to reach heights higher that his wings were capable of taking him.

And sometimes, if he held it close to his chest and closed his eyes, he could almost hear the whistle of wind in his ears,  _feel_  the drop in his stomach as he dips and soars. And, if he focused hard enough, sometimes there’s laughter, though he’s not sure whose.

But it’s a kind sound. One that has Keith chasing after it on days where his duties prove exhausting.

He can never catch it, or find its owner, but he knows, somehow, that he’s heard it before. Like a memory…or maybe a dream.

Either way, it’s always out of reach, like trying to catch smoke with his fingers, or hearing convicts beg for forgiveness.

It’s a wish, and it’s not obtainable, no matter how hard he tries.

That doesn’t stop him though, and it’s on such an occasion, alone in his room with the earring in hand, that he thinks he may actually have a chance.

He’s close. Closer than before. The laughter rings clear in his ears, joyous, innocent,  _familiar!_  But he can’t place it. He can’t see it. He just feels the overwhelming bliss that accompanies it.

 _“Where are you?”_ he asks in his head, thoughts projected outwards as his hand tightens around the earring.

He doesn’t expect a response. There’s never  _been_  one before. So of course he’s rightfully startled when a voice answers.

 _“ **Remember** ,”_ it urges, and it’s familiar as well: bubbly and child-like. _“ **You have to remember!**_ ”

 _“Remember what?”_  he thinks back, clenching his fists now as the laughter fades. The voice returns, somber and aged, and with a reluctance that has tears springing unbidden to Keith’s eyes, despite it being only one word.

_“Me.”_

And then it’s gone.

Everything is gone.

He gasps for breath, eyes opening as the wet streaks on his cheeks evaporate into steam. And there’s a pain in his chest that he can’t quite explain: a sense of  _missing_  that has him staring down at the place his heart should be and wholly expecting to see a gap.

But instead of a gap there’s a softly glowing rune etched into his skin. Keith blinks until his vision is clear, and frantically pulls away the fabric of his shirt to better see.

He can’t tell what it is, so he stands, and runs over to the nearest reflective surface. And when he does he frowns, tracing his fingers over the imprint on his skin as the remaining light ebs away, leaving him with a tattoo of what appears to be a long pointed pole with ornate wings jutting from the daggered end.

It looks like a spike: something they would mount heads upon in the times of old when Hell was a less organized institution. But as Keith leans closer to the mirror, he gets a sense that that’s not what this is.

It’s more refined. More detailed. It’s a weapon, but it holds a different purpose.

A javelin, maybe, or a-

“Lance-”

He speaks the word out loud, and immediately a swirl of blue light engulfs him.

It’s disorientating, and pummels Keith with a force that he’s not used to managing. His wings can’t extend. His footing is lost. And he’s sent upwards in a dizzying spiral of blinding shine, only able to shut his eyes as the scream is torn from his throat.

And just when he thinks he’ll be ripped apart and found scattered across the Underlands, it ends.

It’s still.

There’s something solid beneath him. Soft, though somewhat spikey.

And when he peaks open his eyes he finds it to be green.

A brilliant shade of it, expanding for what feels like an impossible amount of area. And there’s a hum in the air. Though it’s different from the constant buzz of distant yelling that Keith is used to. It’s gentle. Warm and calm.

But that feeling doesn’t last long, as his eyes finally make their way upwards, expecting darkness, almost  _praying_ for it.

And he falls back in shock as blue conquers his sight.

Blue.

So  _much_  blue!

Just like the earring, which he hastily searches for around his neck, only finding a brief moment of solace when he feels it still attached.

Because the worry is back. The fear, the confusion.

He’s not supposed to be here. It’s forbidden. It makes no sense.

But there’s no denying it, because the world above him in blue.

And Keith can only stare in bewilderment up at the sky, wondering how in the Hell he ended up in the human realm.

Wondering who summoned him here.

Wondering how he can get back.

The mark on his chest pulses, and Keith stares down at it as a soft light fills the lines once, before fading back to black.

And suddenly all he can wonder about is the name that springs into his mind, loud and demanding attention, surrounded by a laughter Keith thinks he once knew.

_Lance._

Now if only he could remember who that was.


	7. Sad (?) au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asexual Keith shares my fear of relationships.

He finds the note tucked neatly beneath the aloe plant on their kitchen table; the folded edges crisp but the page wrinkled, suggesting it had been closed and reopened more than once.

But it’s not the physical appearance of the paper-or even the existence of it at all-that has Lance staring numbly in shock. It’s the writing, and he knows before even reading it that it’s from Keith.

Lance would recognize that messy scrawl anywhere.

His initial amusement at finding a note from his beloved is short-lived however, as his eyes scan over the first sentence and absorb what is written.

_**Lance, I need to start this by saying I love you.** _

It’s then that Lance understands the tone held within the note: not playful and cute as he had originally thought, but rather serious and immediately sobering. He sits before going on lest his legs give out.

After all, no good letter ever began with a disclosure.

He tries again, feeling his fingers quiver in fear of what he’s about to read.

_**Lance, I need to start this by saying I love you.** _

_**I love you. So much. More than anything in this world, myself included. You’re my everything.** _

_**And I love you.** _

His eyes are slow to move over the letters, too preoccupied with the growing sense of dread that each word brings. But he goes on, even as his heart begins to sink in his chest.

_**But I’m ~~scared~~  terrified that, no matter how much I love you, it’ll never be enough. That someone, somewhere, is out there who is more worthy of you.** _

_**I doubt that anyone could ever love you more than me, but I know that there’s someone who can love you better.** _

The last word is underlined three times, and Lance can sense Keith’s emotions from the scribbles, almost as if he were speaking them. 

_**You need someone who doesn’t shy away from kisses or grow flustered with hand holding. Someone who initiates hugs and cuddles and doesn’t get uncomfortable with physical contact.** _

_**Someone who is more capable of showing how much they love you, rather than just saying it.** _

**_Lance, I’m not that person_.**

And  _oh_ , Lance is sure he read that wrong. So he goes over it again, and again, because surely Keith isn’t saying what Lance think’s he’s saying! But the words don’t change.

He continues in lightheadedness.

_**I want to be. I want to be so badly that I hate myself for not being able to. But no matter how hard I try-how often I scream at myself to get over it and just…just do the thing I want with you-I can’t.** _

~~_**I can’t and I wish I could but I just-** _ ~~

_**But someone else could. Someone else would! Someone is out there waiting to shower you in affection without hesitation! Without worry or fear or unease!** _

_**Someone is waiting to have you for themselves and treat you the way people in loving relationships are supposed to treat one another. Things I can’t do, no matter how much I wish I could.** _

_**So I have to leave Lance.** _

_No!_  Lance thinks in a panic. _You don’t!_

**_It’s not fair to you. I’m greedy and selfish and I want you all to myself, but you deserve to be loved the way everybody is meant to be loved. You deserve to be with someone who can do the things I can’t. Someone who can give you their entire selves without hesitation._ **

_**And that person isn’t me.** _

_But it is you Keith! It is!_ Lance’s thoughts, no matter how loud and true they may be, do nothing to change the dried ink. 

_**So know that I love you. So much!** _ _**But my love just isn’t enough.** _ _**My love is broken, and I won’t allow myself to continue hindering you with it.** _

The writing here is smudged, and Lance knows from the circular patterns that litter the page what caused it. His own eyes are blurry with tears, but he forges on, biting his lower lip in disbelief, certain that he’s experiencing all seven stages of grief simultaneously.

_**Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. You loving me was more than I could have ever hoped for, and the time we’ve shared has been the most memorable of my life.** _

_**But the guilt is too much now. I’m holding you back from something greater: something spectacular and amazing and-** _

_**I know this. And I know you’ll deny it. But I also know how couples are supposed to act, what they’re supposed to do.** _

_**You deserve that sort of attention. That sort of love.** _

_**I’m not able to provide it.** _

_**I want to, but I can’t.** _

_**Lance,** _

He pauses, sobbing at this point, to read his name over. The care Keith took to write it is obvious, seeing as the letters don’t blend together or overlap, as Keith’s writing is want to do. 

Lance’s name, however, was written slowly, meticulously, and likely with the same heavy pain in his heart that Lance feels now. It’s nearing the end, and both know it at this point. 

_**I love you. I do** _ _**. Don’t think of this as me not loving you. Or me making excuses to leave you. I’m doing this because you’ll be happier this way. I’m sure of it. And I’ll be okay knowing that you’ll be in more capable hands.** _

_**I want you to find someone who can love you better than me. Someone who isn’t afraid to show the world just how much you mean to them. Someone you can be intimate with without having to hold back. I want you to. It’s my final wish before I leave.** _

_**And I know they’re out there, waiting. I’m honestly envious of whoever they may be. But that’s for me to deal with, not you.** _

A gap here, filled by a scribbled out few words that Lance can’t decipher. It’s likely for the best anyway, seeing as the last sentence sends him over the edge as it is: tears cascading down his cheeks and further smudging the writing below. 

_**Goodbye my love, and remember to unplug your straightener.** _

He stares down at the note in his hands, watching the paper tremble between them as he attempts to find more. Because there  _has_ to be more! Keith wouldn’t leave him with this!  _Like_  this! 

He wouldn’t! 

He wouldn’t…

But when Lance snaps back to his senses, toppling over the chair he’d been in to rush through their house, he realizes that Keith did just that. 

He’s gone. Absolutely, completely, wholeheartedly gone.

And as Lance stands in the doorway staring at the space Keith’s bike usually sits, he grasps the severity of the situation. 

That Keith left him. And Lance didn’t get a chance to explain, or reassure, or even  _see_  him one last time. 

And despite Keith’s wishes, Lance couldn’t find someone else even if he wanted to. He can’t because he’s missing a crucial part of himself, a part he’d given Keith without any doubts whatsoever. A part he’d made clear belonged to Keith no matter what. Or at least, he thought he’d made it clear. 

It’s obvious from the letter that Keith was in denial of how Lance felt, and Lance had no idea. He had  _no clue_. And now he can’t even tell Keith that he’s wrong and that he loves him and  _needs_ him and-

And it doesn’t matter now. His heart is gone, and Lance can’t waste time thinking about how he could have prevented this. 

He grabs his coat from off the wall and storms out the front door, more determined than ever to get his love back, his heart. His everything.

And he will.

_He will._

He has to.


	8. Mermaid au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](http://kiilea.tumblr.com/post/173805924996/somewhere-in-between-a-smol-shark-merboy-pup-on-a) by Kiilea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a small blurb started by me and continued by [greenteafiend](https://www.greenteafiend@tumblr.com) and [rukiauchiha13](https://www.rukiauchiha13@tumblr.com)

_@vulpes--vulpes_

_Pretty_ …he thinks as he swims, hands feeling the bottom of the ocean for anything that would spike his interest. There have been plenty of such objects: abandoned shells and an array of corals and bones, old and decrepit, that have sunk from their upper abodes into the darker parts of the ocean. And though Keith would usually gather those treasures up in a heartbeat, he passes them by. He needs something else.

_Pretty…_ he thinks again, exhaling a stream of bubbles as he lifts what he assumes used to be part of an orca skull; all that remains are a few deadly sharp teeth wedged in a lower jawbone, but Keith’s been in close enough contact with the species to know their shape by heart. A great find any other day, but not now. He doubts the mer with the beautiful voice would want something so dark…so  _not pretty._  

_But what else is there?_

He’s not even sure why he’s putting so much effort into this mission to begin with. Who’s he to say the mer with the blue scales would even  _want_  a gift, much less from  _him._  He doesn’t have iridescent fins that catch the light from the water-less world, nor does he have the delicate teeth meant for softer fish and seaweed. His eyes don’t mirror the waves around him, but instead glow an eerie yellow the deeper he dives, and his fingers aren’t soft and webbed, but rather pointy and bland. And he can most certainly  _not_  sing. At all. 

_I’m nothing like him…and yet…I can’t get that voice out of my head!_

He’d tried, for days now, to erase the memory of the boy mer on his bed of sea-flowers, voice unlike anything Keith had ever heard. No other creature in the ocean could sing such as that, save for maybe the dolphins, but Keith had never been close enough to one to know if they compare. It didn’t matter at this point anyway. He’d made his mind up the moment he’d set out on his quest for the perfect gift: there was nothing that could rival such a voice. 

_So why am I even bothering?_

Clearly finding something pretty enough to be worthy of the mer boy was impossible, a realization Keith had been quick to reach, but still he searches. Maybe it’s the stubbornness his brother frequently curses, or the unpredictable manner in which his brain hyper-focuses on random tasks.

Keith thinks maybe it’s just the need to hear such a magnificent voice sing once more…sing for him, maybe…that’s driving him onward.

Whatever the case, stopping now without  _something_  to offer is out of the question. 

_Pretty….something pretty…just like hi-_

A glimmer in the vast darkness, so faint that even Keith’s sensitive eyes can barely make it out, but it’s enough to have him swimming towards it in excitement. 

Usually things that sparkled or glowed or reflected the light in any way, shape, or form, were only detectable up above, where the light could still reach. Down here, where black drowned out any other colour, locating such an item with sight alone is a rarity.

But Keith’s eyes are something of a rarity themselves, according to his brother, so maybe it’s fate. 

He loses sight of the object almost immediately after spotting it, but his senses have already locked onto its position, and in a matter of seconds his fingertips wrap around the treasure, hoisting it up to have a closer look. 

_Hmm…_ he wonders, flipping the object between his hands. It’s heavy, which either means it’s valuable or broken. But it’s also smooth to the touch, and nearly perfectly round on the top and bottom and smooth on the sides, which has Keith believing it’s the former. He wants to keep looking in case it turns out to be nothing special, but it’s getting late now, and Shiro will likely be worrying back home, so Keith takes the risk and ascends. 

His eyes adjust as he goes: glow ebbing as light begins to penetrate the waters once more. He stops at a reef not far from where he first spotted the mer boy and examines the object once more. It’s glimmer is much more radiant up here in the brighter regions of the sea, and he thinks gold is the proper term to use to describe the colour of the thing in his hands. 

Gold is good. Gold is worth something.

_Gold is pretty._

But other than that the object is rather plain. As Keith discovered below, it’s almost completely round and resembles a more circular clam shell in terms of shape, save for a small knob that pokes out from the side. He presses it out of curiosity, and is pleased beyond words to find it opens.

The inside is not gold, but rather a whitish colour, marked with strange lines and arrows that point to several symbols that Keith thinks might be letters from the water-less world. He knows because Shiro has a few similar objects in their home, though the markings aren’t always the same. He decides to ask later.

On the upper part of the treasure is an engraving, though again Keith can’t decipher what it says. He wishes he knew, but the writing is elegant and curvy, with several hearts carved beside each word, so he thinks it can’t say anything bad.

All in all it’s a terrific find, and Keith is grinning as he gently closes the lid, more than satisfied with his gift.

_This is perfect. This is pretty!_  he squeals internally as he swims towards the kelp forest. It’s the route he used last time that led him to the mer boy. That and the singing, which he hears as he approaches, guiding him in and filling his chest with emotions he can’t begin to describe. 

He pops his head up over the rock bordering the flower grove, and sure enough the mer boy is there, lounging in the petals and playing idly with his tail. Keith’s cheeks hurt from suppressing his smile, but he dares not say anything lest the song end. 

Unfortunately, his overzealous tail knocks into a nearby rock formation, causing it to tumble over, and he ducks down just in time to avoid the bright blue eyes that dart his way. 

_Oh no!_

_“_ Who’s there?” he hears, and clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound. The last thing he needs is to be found cowering behind a rock. 

“I heard you, so come on out! No spying allowed!” The voice is growing closer, and in a moment of panic Keith slips away, back into the shelter of the kelp forest. It’s dark enough that his scales will hide him, and he doubts the glow of his eyes will be enough to give him away. 

His gift is still clenched tightly in his hands, and his heart sinks as imagines going back home with regret heavy in his fins for not having had the courage to give it. But he can’t reveal himself now! He’s too shy! And the mer boy just accused him of  _spying!_  

_But I came here to give him a gift! I can’t leave without doing that!_

He comes up with a compromise and heaves the object back towards the rock, where it lands with a soft thud. A moment later a pair of stubby brown hands appear over the edge, and Keith shrinks lower into the kelp as a bubbly face pops up.

_It’s him!_  he gasps internally, holding his breath as he watches blue eyes narrow. 

“Where are you-oh!” the mer boy stops, having spotted the gift. He wastes no time in picking it up, eyes wide and mouth falling open in awe. Keith feels his cheeks burn, which is odd, seeing as his blood is cold. 

“Is this for me?” the mer boy asks, and for a frightening second Keith thinks he’s been found out. But the curious gaze never lands on him, and he realizes that the question was asked to the general area, and not him specifically.

He wants to answer, but finds his tongue suddenly too large for his mouth. Maybe it has something to do with the way the mer boys scales send shades of turquoise onto the rock he’s now perched on, like tiny crystals of beauty being shared with the drab surroundings. 

“Well imma keep it! I like it a lot, even though I don’t know what it is…” the mer boy continues, and Keith feels his stomach flip in excitement.

_He likes it!_

_“_ Thank you, whoever you are!” And with that he’s alone again, too content to do anything but sink lower into the kelp and wonder if he’s ever felt this happy before. 

_He likes it! And he talked to me! Sort of…not really…but it still counts!_

His tail hits bottom, and Keith collapses down onto the sandy ocean floor with a wide grin and a song in his heart. 

_Pretty,_  he thinks giddily, wondering if one day he’ll have enough courage to reply; to tell the mer boy it was him who left the gift. To say how much he enjoys the songs, and the shade of his tail, and the colour of his eyes. 

_Pretty,_  he thinks again as he dazedly swims away, eager to find more gifts worthy of giving someone so amazing, so talented, so wonderful, so brave, so… _so_ -!

_So pretty._   

* * *

_@greenteafiend_

Lance has always been self-conscious of his voice. It’s pretty, in the way that all mer’s voices are, but nothing special. Especially when you compare his song to his older siblings’ songs.    **  
**

His song isn’t so sweet that schools of fish follow him like they do his sister Veronica; she doesn’t need to go hunting. She just sings and a meal comes to her.

His song isn’t so strong that it intimidates killer whales and sharks from their territories like his brother Luis’ does; Luis can sing at just the right pitch and frequency to make predators flee, and keep their family safe.  

His song isn’t so complex and intricate that he can be a performer like his brother Marcos; mers come from far and wide to hear Marcos sing.

The only thing Lance’s voice can do is make sea flowers bloom. Which is  _nice_ he supposes. Just not  _special._

Lance figures that if _that_  is the only talent his voice affords him, he may as well try and make the most of it.

Hence the practicing out in the middle of the kelp forest away from where anyone can find him, trying and _trying_  so hard to make his song do something  _special._

One day, while lounging and straightening out his tail fins as he sings, for once just  _enjoying_  the softness of the petals he is able to coax forth rather than cursing his inability to do anything else, Lance catches someone spying on him. Well, he doesn’t catch anyone per se, but there is definitely someone watching him; those rocks didn’t topple over themselves!   
  
He searches through the kelp and calls for the spy to reveal themselves, but instead of an intruder, he discovers a pretty golden bauble.

He falls in love with it, and immediately forgives the intruder for spying. They can listen to his silly attempts at singing all they want if they keep bringing him such pretty things.   
  
When he returns home, he excitedly rearranges his giant clam shell treasure box so that the lovely golden circle can take center stage, surrounded by pretty shells, bits of smooth sea glass, and other odds and ends Lance has collected over the years.

For the rest of the day, Lance can’t stop himself from swimming back to his little corner of his family’s cave to admire it, stroking it’s golden gleaming surface, a pleased grin curving his lips.

After that, Lance finds more thing in his secret place.

A perfect, pure white pearl; larger than he has ever  _seen_  before. He catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he darts over to investigate, his mysterious gift-giver is gone.

“Hello?” he calls, “Come out, let me see you!” 

Only silence answers him.   

It’s disappointing; Lance only wanted to say thank you. The pearl earns a place in his treasure box nonetheless.

As do the pretty twisted piece of silver, a smooth pebble of opal, and an even  _larger_  pair of giant clam shells than the one he uses as his treasure box.

After finding that, he immediately swims home and transfers all his precious things over; his new treasure box is even  _blue_  to boot, his favorite color!  

And all the while he sings and sings, and flowers bloom and bloom in his secret place, and if he occasionally notices the soft sound of a displaced stone hitting the sand, or catches the flicker of something luminous out of the corner of his eye, Lance pretends not to notice.

His gift-giver is shy, but Lance has hope that they will reveal themselves to him in due time.

Maybe his song isn’t so silly and useless if it can inspire someone to bring him so many beautiful things…

* * *

_@vulpes--vulpes_

It’s been nearly a week and a half of anonymous presents, and Keith’s become more adventurous in his search for treasures worthy of song. The pearl was a stroke of absolute luck, plucked from the clams Shiro had brought for dinner the night of his first gifting. Keith’s eyes had grown wide with wonder upon polishing the whitish stone, and he’d been resolved to give it to the blue mer boy the very next day.

And the resulting reaction to it had been worth the odd looks he’d received from his brother after finding the pearl, who hadn’t been at all convinced with Keith’s fib about wanting to start a collection of pretty rocks. 

“ _You don’t do pretty,”_  he’d said. “ _You do weird and painstakingly dangerous for one your age.”_ Keith had shrugged without much denial, but Shiro hadn’t pushed the matter, for which he’d been grateful. Lying had never been one of his strong suits. 

Or rather, Shiro was too good at reading him, and his tail had a habit of giving him away. 

Truth be told, the pearl hadn’t been anything that special in Keith’s books, and it was only the smile of the singing mer that had given it any value to him at all.

He’d been encouraged then to find enough of the stones to fashion a jewel of some sort: a necklace or fin bracelet. But pearls are rare, apparently, and there were only so many clams Keith could stomach before Shiro grew too suspicious. 

So his gifts had had to adapt, and each one, no matter how anxious he’d been in giving them, had been received with rosy cheeks and a rise of bubbles from a grinning mouth. 

It filled Keith with elation, and oftentimes he would have to force himself to remain on the sea bottom lest he float up to the surface in a wave of giddy thoughts. 

The reactions to his offerings were more valuable than anything the ocean could provide, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to find more elaborate presents after each stealthy visit to flower garden within the kelp. There was always something better, something even  _prettier_  than what he’d left before.

He needed to continuously up his game, and it was with such a mindset that had led Keith into the open waters. 

An imbecilic move now that he has time to catch his breath, having swam for his life away from the fishing vessel that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He thanks his lucky stars that he’d pestered Shiro into teaching him maneuvering techniques for rocky bays, seeing as the added control of his tail fins and tight spiraling movements had likely kept him from the nets. 

He’s still alive, safe within the reef once more, though not entirely unharmed. 

His right arm was grazed by something incredibly sharp and unexpectedly fast as he darted past the ship. He thinks maybe it’d been a harpoon, but hadn’t stopped to check. The rich scent of blood had been enough to prolong the adrenaline coursing through him and had given him that extra boost of speed to ensure his escape. 

But now that he’s safe, and able to catch a proper breath, the pain from the wound makes an appearance, and Keith grits his teeth as a wave of nausea forces his eyes shut. 

_Ah! Shiro is gonna kill me…_

Red water rises up around the cut, no longer diffused by his swimming. 

_This isn’t good. I need to stop the bleeding before something comes looking-_

_“_ Are you alright!?”

Keith blinks in what he thinks to be shock. A combination of fear from the incident, anxiety over being eaten by something larger than himself, and awkward embarrassment as he recognizes the voice compete for the title of dominant emotion. 

One part of him wants to admit that he’s  _not_ alright: that he needs help or his brother or  _something_  to stop the flow of blood. But there’s another part of his brain silently screaming in terror as he registers the familiar tone of the words. 

They carry the same delicate clip of the questions asked each time he leaves a gift; the same soprano pitch tinged with an accent he hasn’t been able to determine as of yet. There’s a tad more strain on the words this time around, likely due to the scenario he’s been found in, but it’s without a doubt the same voice that sings the songs he admires so much.

It’s the mer boy, and Keith isn’t sure what to feel. 

“Oh my-y _our arm!_ ” the boy yelps, pointing to the cloud of red engulfing Keith’s right side. He tries to cover it, but there’s no point. The evidence of his injury is stained in the water. 

“I’m-it’s fine-” he attempts, but there’s a hitch in his voice that easily betrays the pain he feels. The mer boy is there in an instant, blue eyes wide and filled with concern as they roam over the wound.  A hesitant hand reaches out to poke the torn skin, and Keith hisses on reflex as a sharp ache flows up his is arm. He flinches away, apology ready on his lips, but the mer boy surprises him by lowering his brows in an expression of calm determination. 

“Wait here.”

Keith does as instructed, more-so out of confusion than any sense of obedience. He’s certain that the boy would have swam off after seeing pointed teeth aimed his way, or at least shown some unease at the amount of blood acting like a flashing buffet sign in the darkening waters. But the blue mer only nods once before darting towards the kelp forest. He returns with several strips of seaweed tucked under his arm, and gently pulls Keith out of the pool of red.

“What are you-”

“Hold your arm out,” he instructs, cutting the question off. Keith gulps, but again does as asked. Tender fingers wrap around his wrist, guiding his right arm away from his body and out straight. Keith winces at the movement, biting his lower lip to keep from making a sound. 

He wants to assure the mer that he’s fine, all good, nothing to see here, but then seaweed is wrapped around the cut and pulled tight, and the only sound that escapes his lips is a muffled whine. 

“Sorry,” the boy murmurs, sounding genuine, “but it needs to be tight to stop the bleeding. I don’t think it needs to be sewed up though.”

“Sewed up?!” Keith yelps, hating the idea of needles. The boy catches his eye, almost looking amused, before averting his gaze back down to his arm.

“Yeah, or amputated.”

Keith’s face must go pale, purple markings on his tail fading to a lilac as fear courses through him, as those blue eyes once again lift to his.

“Woah, hey, I’m only joking. You’re gonna be fine, don’t be scared.”

He wants to say that he isn’t afraid, but all he can manage is a feeble nod as another layer of seaweed is wrapped securely over the wound. The mer boy pats it gently, before sliding his hand down into Keith’s and tugging him backwards.

“C’mon. We need to get away from all the blood.”

Again, all Keith can do is oblige, mind short-circuiting as webbed fingers entangle with his. 

He’s led into the kelp forest, which he pretends not to recognize, especially when the weeds open up to reveal the ocean flowers he’s visited so often. It takes all his effort not to stare outright at the rock he typically hides behind, and he ends up keeping his eyes fixed to where dainty fingers squeeze his own. 

“We should be safe here,” the mer says, releasing Keith’s hand to sit down on the petals. “No one ever comes here.”

_Except me,_ Keith thinks, hoping his tail won’t betray him. He’s numb at this point, both mentally and physically, and can’t for the life of him think of anything to say.

“Does you arm hurt?” he’s asked, and jerks at the sudden question. It does, a lot, but he can’t admit that. So instead he goes for what he hopes is a confident shrug.

“I’ve had worse.”

“ _Really?!”_  the boy gasps, not at all skeptical, and for some reason Keith can’t follow through.

“Um…well, no.”

The boy stares up at him, tilting his head to the side before bursting out in laughter. It’s the first time Keith’s heard him make such a noise, and it almost enough to rival the singing. 

_Oh wow…pretty…_

The laughter cuts off almost immediately, and a hand is once again on his arm. Keith glances down at it, then lifts his gaze up to meet the worried frown of his rescuer. 

“Woah, you good? You looked like you were about to pass out.”

_You have no idea.._

_“_ I’m…uh-” he can’t finish the sentence. He’s too distracted by the heat soaking into his skin beneath that hand. 

“Maybe you should sit.”

“Okay,” he agrees instantaneously, taking a spot on the flower bed. The hand leaves his arm once more, and Keith mourns it’s loss. 

“I’m Lance by the way.” 

“Lance?” Keith repeats dazedly, and is met with a lighter version of the laugh from before. A giggle maybe. 

The impacts are the same.

“Yeah, Lance. What’s your name?”

“My name?” 

Another giggle, this time accompanied with a raised brow.

“You sure you’re okay? Or are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

Lance snorts. 

“Like  _that.”_

_“_ Oh, uh-” Keith turns his attention down towards his tail, feeling his face begin to burn and his scales shift to a darker shade. He blames his disorientation on the blood loss. “Sorry. Guess I’m just a little shaken.”

A pressure on his arm again, and he peeks over to see the hand has returned. He wants it to slide lower though; entwine with his fingers like before. 

“Yeah, what exactly happened?” Lance asks, blue eyes searching Keith’s face when he lifts his gaze upwards. 

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, the words ‘I was looking for a present for you’ nearly popping out of his mouth. He swallows them quickly, coming up with a vague explanation on the spot.

“I was swimming too fast and ran into a rock.”

“A rock?” Lance sounds skeptical, or maybe unimpressed? Keith can’t tell, and he realizes too late that a fib about his lack of swimming prowess may not have done him many favours.

_Lame, but safe. I can’t have him knowing the truth._

“Yeah…” he drawls slowly, and Lance nods after a moment. 

“Yikes. Must have been one heck of a rock. I guess you’re lucky it was a clean cut. No jagged edges. It’ll heal nicer that way.”

“Thank you,” Keith mumbles, tail restless and arm aching. “I…kinda panicked back there. I’m really glad you were around.”

Lance grins, patting his arm with his hand before leaning back on the flower bed with a satisfied smirk. 

“Yeah  _I’ll_ say. There was a lot of blood. But I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Keith hums at that, clasping his hands together in his lap as he nervously flips his tail. 

“Actually, I was wondering…um…”

“Yeah?” 

“Could you…sing? For me?”

Lance shoots up, causing Keith to jerk back at the abrupt motion. He’s already nervous about having made such a personal request, and so far the reaction to it is not encouraging. 

“Nevermind-”

“How did you know I sing?” Lance interrupts, and Keith’s eyes widen as he glances over at him. 

_Lie! Lie quick!_

_“_ Don’t all mers sing?” 

Lance ponders this for a moment, then shrugs casually as he relaxes back down into the petals. 

“Oh yeah, I guess.”

_Thank goodness,_  Keith mentally sighs in relief.  _I almost gave myself away._

_“_ Alrighty then,” Lance continues, patting the spot beside him. “But you have to close your eyes. I get shy.”

Keith lays back, biting back his eager grin as he lets his eyes fall shut.

“Why do you get shy?” he asks, and he hears Lance sigh.

“Well, not  _shy_ , really. I’m just…not as good a singer as my family. My voice is nothing special-”

“I think it’s special,” Keith murmurers, too softly for Lance to hear.

“-so just don’t get your hopes up.”

Keith wants to tell Lance that his hopes don’t need to be up when they’ve already been met time and time again. He wants to admit that he already knows how amazing Lance sings, how spectacular his voice truly is. But saying any of that would lead to an awkward explanation that Keith isn’t brave enough to give, so instead he nods.

“Okay…here goes…” 

Lance’s song begins in a low octave, reminding Keith of distant whale calls: lonely and beautiful. He doesn’t recognize the words this time, realizing Lance is speaking in a different tongue, but it’s somehow even more astonishing than when he understands the lyrics. 

With the unfamiliar language comes a renewed sense of calm that wraps Keith up tighter than the seaweed on his arm. It’s reassuring in an odd way, and he’s lost in the melody of the tune as his brain gives up trying to decipher it’s meaning. 

He relaxes into the flower bed, feeling each petal beneath him grow softer than any algae pillow. The tension in his fins eases, and the pain in his arm dissolves until Keith forgets that he was ever hurt in the first place. 

His body feels like it’s floating in a lazy current, rising and falling with Lance’s voice. It’s mesmerizing, and Keith is captivated beyond words. He’s almost ashamed that he thought any gift could be worth such an experience. He curses the rock he hid behind all this time for muffling the potential of the songs. 

With Lance so close Keith can feel each exhale in the water around him; can practically sense the kelp swaying along in rhythm to the song. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, lest the spell break and he awake in his bed back home.

Because surely this is a dream. There’s no other way to describe it.

And even as the final notes of Lance’s song fade away, leaving a comfortable silence in their wake, Keith keeps his lids closed, smile no longer in hiding. 

“How was that?” Lance whispers, almost shyly, and Keith inhales deeply as he’s reminded he’s not in a trance. Words, however, are not enough to express how he feels, so instead Keith takes a chance and reaches out with his hand, over across the gap of rosy flowers separating himself and Lance, until he makes contact with skin.

He keeps his eyes closed as his fingers trail along what he assumes is Lance’s arm, beaming triumphantly when he feels fingers beneath his palm. He rests his hand in Lance’s, exhaling a stream of bubbles upwards with a dopey grin. 

“Perfect,” he mumbles contently. A moment later Lance’s fingers squeeze into his, securing the hold with a warmth that could rival the sun. 

He’s not sure how long they simply lay like that, only that he’s shaken awake at one point by Lance: hair disheveled and eyes tired.

“Hey,” he says, humour in his voice, “I have to go home now. Are you alright to make it back or should I escort you?”

Keith chuckles, sitting up with a yawn as he stretches his arms over his head. Lance’s hand is no longer in his, but his fingers are left with an imprint of their feel. 

He closes his fist to prolong the sensation.

“I’ll be okay,” he replies. “Thanks again for rescuing me.”

“It was nothin’,” Lance waves him off, but Keith grabs hold of his face with both hands, causing the other to freeze.

“No, you really saved me Lance. And I really liked your song. Thank you.” And mustering as much courage as he can, Keith leans forward, plopping a hasty kiss to Lance’s forehead. He swims away just as quickly, turning once at the edge of the kelp forest to see a very flustered looking mer boy staring back at him.

“I’ll see you later!” he calls out, making to leave, but Lance recovers just in time to shout out.

“Hey wait!” 

Keith pauses, glancing over his shoulder to see Lance extending a hand in his direction.

“You never told me your name!”

_Oh!_

Keith grins, feeling his cheeks heat as he rubs the back of his neck. 

“It’s Keith,” he answers, and sees Lance smile. 

“Keith,” he repeats, then lifts his hand in a wave. “Come visit anytime Keith!”

All he can do is nod before he’s swimming again, heart soaring and energy flowing through his body. He feels rejuvenated. He feels empowered. He’s unstoppable and ecstatic and so overwhelming joyful! 

Because Lance sang a song for him!  _For him!_  

_And we held hands!_

It’s enough to have him wooping in glee once out of earshot of the kelp forest, uncaring of the looks he gets from passersby.

When he gets home Shiro asks about the seaweed wrapped around his arm, and Keith panics with the impeding explanation to the injury beneath. But when he slowly removes the bandages, he finds only smooth skin.

Clean, clear, unblemished and unscarred. 

It’s as if he was never cut at all.

* * *

_@greenteafiend_

There is exactly one thought running through Lance’s mind as he floats home that evening in a haze of bubbly happiness:

_He likes my song! He **really** likes my song!_

Having an appreciative audience that genuinely enjoys his singing is better than all the trinkets he’s been left combined, and Lance really hopes that Keith takes him up on his offer to come back. Seeing the pained lines of Keith’s worried face melt into bliss because of his song made Lance feel special.

Like maybe it isn’t too disappointing to only make sea flowers bloom if someone can enjoy his song so deeply; he can tell that it makes Keith happy.

_So happy he held my hand! So happy he **kissed** me! _Lance thinks to himself giddily, heart beating faster as something soft and warm blooms in his chest.  

Much like the sea flowers, Keith had _bloomed_  with his music. Bioluminescent sparks had lit up his whole body, making it seem as if Keith had been shining from within. As Keith had gradually relaxed, his coloring had lightened so much that he appeared almost violet, that long agile tail shimmering as he had gently swayed to the rhythm of Lance’s song. It had been fascinating and beautiful to watch, and Lance wants to see if he can coax such a reaction out of him again.  

His wish is granted a few days later when he catches a flash of quick movement amongst the kelp.

“Keith?” he calls eagerly, and the shy shark boy answers him wordlessly by revealing himself.

“You came back after all!” Lance exclaims happily, darting forward to swim in an excited spiral around him.

Keith turns in place to watch him, eyes wide with awe, and it makes Lance giggle. He likes the way Keith looks at him; like he’s  _special._

“How’s your arm?” Lance asks, taking Keith’s hand and flipping it over to inspect the injured area.

“Woah!” he exclaims, tracing a finger lightly over unblemished skin. Keith is smooth and cool to touch, and his skin  _glows_  underneath the gentle pressure of Lance’s fingertips; sparkling gently like starlight.

Lance barely resists the urge to trail his fingers further up Keith’s arm to see where else he can make his bioluminescence ignite.   

“That healed up quick-fast, didn’t it!” he says, grinning up at Keith.

“Thanks to you,” replies Keith bashfully, and he sounds so earnest that Lance can’t help but laugh at him fondly.

“It’s true! Your song really helped!” insists Keith, turning more and more violet by the second.    

“Do you want to hear me sing again?” asks Lance, and now it’s his turn to be bashful, but Keith immediately nods so enthusiastically that he can’t feel shy for very long.  

He takes Keith by the hand, and leads him over to the sea flower bed where they lay side by side.

“No peeking,” he says, and Keith immediately obeys and closes his eyes.

Unlike last time, Lance doesn’t want Keith to close his eyes so he isn’t embarrassed; Keith has already made it clear that he likes Lance’s song.

No, Lance wants Keith to keep his eyes closed for purely selfish reasons; he wants to watch Keith enjoying his music, and it’s easier to stare at someone, to trace the lines that make up their face and body, without them staring back.  

Keith’s face goes slack, and he smiles dreamily as soon as the first note leaves Lance’s lips.

The song Lance is singing today is old, in an ancient mer language Lance barely understands, but the cadence is slow and mournful. He understands enough to be able to tell that it’s about someone longing for their lost love to return to them.

Lance watches Keith’s breathing deepen as he relaxes, as sparks shimmer down his tail when Lance hits or holds certain notes.  

It’s as gratifying as it is fascinating to watch, and Lance can’t help but reach out to _touch_. Keith’s sparkly glow is just so  _pretty._

Keith lets out a little gasp when Lance’s fingertips brush against the glowly stripes at his waist, but he keeps his eyes closed and he leans into the contact so Lance thinks it’s okay to do this.  

The light shines brighter, practically _burning_  underneath Lance’s touch, and as Lance strokes down over Keith’s smooth hip, in the same direction as the grain of his fine placoid scales, the sparkling brightness follows.  

He strokes the same path along Keith’s waist and hip again and again as he sings, watching in fascination as Keith’s skin light up for him.

When that songs ends, Lance transitions smoothly into another more upbeat tune, watching as Keith’s bioluminescence reacts to the change in tempo.

Lance sings and sings and sings as Keith melts into the flowerbed, and Lance’s touch.

When his songs finally end, Lance leaves his hand against Keith’s hip, and gazes at him as his violet eyes flutter back open. Those were pretty too; Keith’s eyes.

“Did you know that you glow when I sing?” Lance murmurs.

“I what?” says Keith. He has that delightfully dazed look on his face again.  

“You _glow,_  it’s really pretty,” says Lance, smiling brightly and bringing his hand up from Keith’s hip to stroke the sparkly stripes on his cheek. They light up under his fingertips just like Keith’s waist and hips had.

“Pretty? _Me?_ ” says Keith, looking utterly bewildered, like Lance had spoken in a language he didn’t comprehend.

“Yeah, you glow even  _brighter_  when I touch you,” says Lance.

“I do?”

“I’m starting to think that you _are_ always like this, Keith. Unless you had another run in with a rock I’m not aware of?” teases Lance.      

“N-no-! It’s just–” Keith covers his face with his hands and mumbles something Lance can’t quite make out, but whatever it is, it makes his tail turn violet.   

“Do you wanna learn how to make a sea flower crown?” Lance asks, taking pity on him. As adorable as he is when he’s flustered, Lance doesn’t want to scare him away, and he’s made a lot of flowers bloom today; it’d be good to do something with them all.

Keith peeks out at Lance through his fingers.

“Flower crown?” he says, tilting his head in question.   

“Here, I’ll show you! Help me pick some flowers, and make sure you leave  _this_ much of the stem attached,” says Lance, demonstrating by plucking a pale pink flower with the appropriate amount of stem and holding it up for Keith to see.

“My sister Veronica showed me how to make them,” explains Lance conversationally as they gather stems, before settling side by side in the flowerbed that has become largely flower depleted.

“So it goes like this,” says Lance, showing Keith how to weave the the stems together.

“This goes  _here_ , then you put this bit underneath to secure it,” he explains, as he tries to make his movements slow and deliberate.

Ten minutes later he has completed a crown.

“Ta-daa!” he says with a flourish, reaching over to brush Keith’s hair out of his face and place the crown atop his head. He fiddles with the placement for a bit, tucking away silky strands of hair here and there before declaring “Perfect!”

The pale pink of the flowers looks really nice against Keith inky dark hair, and it makes his luminous violet eyes really pop.

“Lovely, now you make one for me,” he says, handing Keith a few flower stems to start with.   

Keith tries, he really does, but it’s clear he can’t quite remember how it goes and he looks to Lance imploringly for guidance.    

“Like this,” says Lance patiently, taking Keith’s hands hands to guide them through the correct motions. They sparkle faintly where Lance gently nudges him.

“There you go!” he beams cheerfully once Keith gets the hang of it, although he is slower and clumsier than Lance is.

“How many siblings do you have?” asks Keith shyly, keeping his eyes on his flower stems.

“I told you about my sister Veronica already. I have two other brothers as well, Luis and Marcos. They’re all older than me, I’m the youngest. If you think  _my_ singing is good, you should listen to  _theirs–”_

And then Lance’s mouth runs off, telling Keith all about how wonderful and amazing his brothers and sister are. Even though Lance has always been overshadowed by them, he loves them dearly and takes all opportunities he is given to gush about how amazing they are; he’s proud of them.  

Before he knows it, he has blurted out most of his family history at Keith. He stops himself abruptly partway through the story of how his brother covered for him with his mom one time when he sneaked up to the surface to go stargazing, realising that he’s been dominating the conversation for awhile.

“Sorry, I tend to talk a lot, if I’m boring you just let me know.”

“You aren’t!” exclaimed Keith fervently, “I like listening to you…”

He has that adorably shy look on his face again and Lance is helplessly charmed by it.  

So he finishes his story, while Keith finishes off his flower crown. The crown ends up a little uneven and lopsided, but Lance takes it from Keith hands anyway the slips it on over his head.

“How do I look?” he asks striking a pose.

“Perfect,” breathes Keith seriously, sending Lance into a fit of bubbly giggles.

The waters around them have darkened significantly by this point, signalling to Lance that it is time to return least his absence be noted.

It’s a shame because Keith’s glowly tail looks even more impressive in the low lit waters of the flower grove at twilight.

“I have to go, but you’ll come back some time right?” he asks.

Keith nods, reaching for the flower crown Lance made him, clearly intending to remove it.

“What are you doing?” says Lance in a rush, grabbing Keith’s hands to stop him from ruining Lance’s arrangement.

Keith blinks.

“Giving you back your flower crown?”

“Keith, I made it for  _you_ , you don’t have to give it back, it’s a _present,_ ” Lance explains patiently.

Keith’s eyes go very wide.

“A present?” he says, clearly shocked.

“Yes, a present. Just like the one  _you_ made is for  _me_ , right?” says Lance, pointing to the flower crown on his head with an amused smile.  

Lance takes advantage of Keith’s continued shock to dart forward and press a light kiss again his cool cheek.

“Take care, Keith,” says Lance, and then he turns tail and quickly flits away before Keith can catch him blushing.

 

The next day Lance eagerly heads to his secret spot in the kelp forest, anticipation and hope burning in his gut, but darkness falls and Keith never shows.

Lance shakes off his disappointment and returns the next day, but still no Keith.

A full week passes with Lance visiting his spot every single day for hours at a time, vainly hoping that Keith will come. His feelings vacillate between worry that something might have happened to Keith, and annoyance that he hadn’t come like he said he would.

On the eighth day Keith finally returns, swimming into the flower groove like a shooting star, not stopping or slowing down until he was right in front of Lance.

“Keith-? Are you al-”

“I need your help,” he blurts.

Keith’s coloring was very dark today, his tail almost entirely black, utterly void of his usual bioluminescent radiance. In contrast, his face is extremely pale, eyes red-rimmed, lower-lip trembling.

“Keith, calm down. Just  _breathe_  for me,” Lance implores, putting his hands on Keith shoulders.

Keith’s breathing shudders and hitches as he tries to comply.

“I-it’s m-my fault,” he says in a small voice, “Shiro got hurt real bad a-and it’s all my fault–”

“Who’s Shiro?” asks Lance.

“My b-brother. Please, will you come with me, Lance? I need your help.”

There are a million questions swirling around in Lance’s head in that moment, but the one thing he is certain of is that he will do anything within in power to help. He’ll do anything to make Keith stop looking so small and afraid.  

“Of course. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to  _sing.”_

* * *

_@rukiauchiha13_

Lance couldn’t help but feel scared as Keith drags him along, holding his hand tightly, not of Keith of course but with the whole situation. After making the request, Lance wasn’t even able to get a word out before the distressed boy is hauling him out of the flowerbed and leading him out of the kelp forest. His parents’ warning of not to follow strangers lost in his head.

_Well technically, Keith isn't a stranger, he’s my friend! And he needs my help!_ He argues with himself, squeezing Keith’s hand when he hears a quiet whimper as they swim along corals. His tail and markings are still most entirely black, lacking its usual opal luster and even if Lance can’t see his face, his whimpers tells him otherwise.

_Why would he want me to sing though? My..my voice is nothing special. My songs can only grow flowers and-_

 He’s cut off from his train of thought when he hears Keith mumble something.

“What was that?”, asks Lance.

“It was my fault,” Keith repeats in a louder voice.

“Wh-”

“If I had… i-if I had only listened to Shiro, he wouldn’t be h-hurt and now he wont wake up and its all my fault!”, bursted out Keith, letting go of Lance’s hand to cover his face as he cried, causing them to stop their trek. 

“Wait Keith, calm down-”, Lance manages to bit out before Keith, in his grief, tried to curl in on himself. His voice, muffled when he spoke.

“Shiro is m-my brother..and, and h-he got hurt because of, because of me and I-i don’t know, what..what to d-do-”

Lance circles around Keith and stops in front of him, taking hold of Keith’s hands and prying them from Keith’s face. He replaces them with his own as he tries to calm down the boy.

“Keith, listen it’s gonna be okay, I’ll help you. I don’t know what my singing will do but if you think my song will help your brother in any way then I will gladly do it”, Lance says as he strokes Keith’s cheek in an effort to calm him down. 

Keith sniffles as he held Lance’s gaze, trying to determine if Lance is saying the truth.  _What am I even thinking, of course Lance is telling the truth. Lance will help me._

As Lance sees the panic and fear swirling in Keith’s red-rimmed eyes, his resolve to help grows stronger as he hugs Keith and hums a soft tune to at least take off some of the tenseness in Keith’s figure, carding his fingers through Keith’s hair all the while.

He felt Keith’s body immediately relax against his and the sniffles quiet down. When he’s sure that Keith can lead him to wherever he’s leading him without breaking down, he speaks.

“Do you feel better now?”

“..yes, thank you Lance”

Lance vanquishes his hold on Keith and reaches for his hand, squeezing gently.

“Well then, lead the way. You can tell me everything on the way there”

Keith nods and pulls Lance along. He tells Lance of how Shiro had to rescue him from a bunch of fishing boats who had tried to reel him in when Keith had decided to visit the open waters. 

“You went to the open waters?!”, Lance had all but screeched, causing them to momentarily pause as Lance had tugged his hand back.

“But  _why??_ ”

Hearing this, Keith winced and he pulls Lance along again. 

“Its… its a long story”, he lamely answers and shuts up. Lance, sensing that Keith wants it to be dropped, simply sighed.

“Okay but you’re telling me later”

Keith thanks the currents that Lance didn’t pushed it. Though on the other hand, he’s on the verge of panicking once more as he thinks of Shiro who he had left back home in order to get Lance.  _Shiro don’t worry, you’ll be okay soon._

After swimming for what felt like hours, but in truth had only been couple of minutes, they had arrived at their destination. Keith immediately swims to the entrance of a cave much similar to Lance’s home, with one exception. There was a dozen of shiny little trinkets attached on kelp that decorated the outsides of the cave. 

_Woah, so pretty. And shiny._  Lance cant help but look around as he follows Keith. The inside of the cave is the same, with piles of shiny pretty stones on one side, huge bones and skulls on another- _What the, is that an Orca’s skull?-_ and man made things on the far side of the cave. 

He wanted to examine the pretty things but he first had to see Keith’s brother.

While Lance got distracted by the stuff strewn around their cave, Keith quickly swims to Shiro, who was laid down on a seaweed bed near the back of the cave. His complexion had even worsened and he was now breathing raggedly. A cloud of red seeping from the wound on his abdomen, despite the layer of kelp clumsily wrapped around it. A harpoon had sliced through the skin deeply during their escape, it was a miracle that Shiro managed to turn to the side at the last second lest he becomes impaled with the sharp thing.

He tried to hold in his tears, he really did. But seeing his older brother in such a state hurts, knowing that he was the cause why it happened only doubled the pain. 

He feels an arm circle his shoulder as Lance hugs him to his side. He keeps his gaze on Shiro as he speaks.

“If I had only listened to Shiro’s warning, he wouldn’t be hurt like this”, he stammers out, “He’s been unconscious for almost two weeks n-now and I’ve done everything to stop the bleeding but its still wont!” 

Keith faces Lance and grips his shoulders, “I don’t know… I don’t know what I”ll do with-without Shiro, Lance. He’s the only family I have left.  _I cant lose him too.”_

Lance gulps as he sees how pained Keith is but seeing firsthand how dire the situation actually is, he starts to doubt himself. Shiro is looking very sickly, bruises peppering his arms, sick reddish water surrounding his midsection. _I don’t think my first aid abilities will be enough here, much less my singing?_

“K-Keith,” he begins, stealing a look on the battered boy in front of them, “What  _exactly_ do you want me to do? I have no special abilities, I think we should get my family instead they’ll know what to-”

“ _Lance,_ your  _singing.”_

“My singing? But my songs can only grow plants-”

Keith shakes his head and slides his hands down Lance arms to hold his hands instead, looking Lance in the eyes as he continues speaking.

“Remember last time when you found me wounded? And after you wrapped kelp in my arm, I asked you to sing for me?”

“Yes..? What about it?”, Lance answers skeptically, he wouldn’t be able to forget that, as it was his first time singing in front of someone, the way Keith’s markings and tail glowed as he listened will forever be etched onto his memory. He had been breathtaking.

“I remembered feeling all the pain i-in my arm going away while you sang,” answers Keith as he avoids Lance’s eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up, “Then when I got home that afternoon, Shiro saw my arm covered in kelp and he got suspicious of it so he made me take it off. I was scared at first but when I took it off, there was  _no_ wound at all, not even a scratch.”

“You’ve always told me about your older siblings having special abilities through singing and how you don’t have any but  _Lance,_ your voice can  _heal”,_ Keith finishes, squeezing Lance’s hands, gazing back into Lance’s eyes.

Lance, on the other hand was feeling a bit hesitant, he knows that he have to help Keith but  _What if it doesn’t work?_

_“_ Lance trust me, it’ll work. Stop doubting yourself”, Keith says as if he can read the other boy’s thoughts, “I wont run to you first if I’m not sure.”

The blue eyed boy cant help but believe in Keith as he says those things with conviction. He also feels strangely giddy at the fact that Keith had run to him first for help. 

Lance takes a deep breath and lets it out, looking at Keith’s luminescent purple eyes.

“Okay…okay Keith I’ll try”, he says while facing Shiro completely, not letting go of Keith’s hand, “But if it doesn’t work we’‘ll be calling my family right away.”

Keith just nods, “I’ll turn around if you want-”

“There’s no need Keith I-,” he squeezes his hand, “I just want this to work the way you think it will.”

And then he sings. 

Keith cant describe the feelings he felt as he listened to Lance’s melodious voice, singing an ancient mer song in a language he can’t understand. All he knows that its  _breathtaking._

Lance has his eyes closed as he sings, somber tones and mournful notes leaving his mouth. He sings with all of his heart, pouring his soul with each word that he chants, weaving all of it into one beautiful melody.

Keith isn’t sure how it happens but all of a sudden, Lance’s tail glows a bright arctic blue, shimmering as light from the opening of the cave hits it. It casts dancing sapphire shades into the cave’s dull walls, rendering Keith unable to speak as he watches. Keith thinks its more beautiful than any trinkets or decorations he’d hang up on their walls. 

He forces himself to take away his gaze from the wall and instead focus on his brother and he gasps. Shiro had begun to glow as well, his markings and tail an opalescent purple just like his own. His complexion doesn’t look a sickly pale anymore, his breathing evening out.  _Its working, its working!_

“Lance, Lance it’s working! Look!”, he excitedly says as the first bruises on Shiro’s arms fade into nothing. 

Lance who had been singing with his eyes closed, opens them and almost stutter but he continues on. He cant believe what he’s seeing.  _Oh my ocean, Keith is right! Its working! My voice can heal?!_

Lance first song finishes and he smoothly transitions to a much more happier one, Keith lets go of Lance’s hand and takes off the seaweed he had covered the wound with in a fruitless attempt to stop the bleeding.

They both watch as the deep gash on Shiro’s abdomen start to heal itself. Lance feels relieved as the wound starts to close, feeling very happy that it had worked and also because  _My voice can really heal!_

Keith doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh as he watches his brother get better, so he settles for gripping Lance’s hand once more, squeezing it in hopes of relying the feeling of gratitude for Lance.

As the last vestiges of soothing tunes disappear from Lance’s mouth along with the wound on Shiro’s abdomen, the previous incandescent glow from Shiro and Lance’s tail and markings also vanish, leaving the inside of the cave in its dull brown color. 

Silence fills the cave for a few seconds.

“Oh my- I…my voice, Keith-” Lance stutters out as he tries to find a way to express himself, “I didn’t hallucinate, did I?”

Keith, on the other hand, feels so happy that he feels like he’s gonna burst. He takes one look at Shiro’s once more healthy form and let go. He hugs Lance and buries his face into Lance’s neck, repeating words of thanks all over and over again.  _Shiro is finally okay again!_

“No, you didn’t, y-you…thank you, thank you so much Lance. I wouldn’t have known what to do without you, thank you for saving Shiro,” he says shakily.

“W-woah, easy there, shark-boy, you’re gonna suffocate me”, giggles out Lance though he reciprocates the hug. Lance is almost quivering in Keith’s arms.

“I cant believe it it! I-i have special powers! Keith, you we’re right!”, Lance starts as they broke the hug, circling Keith in his excitement, “Like, not only I can grow flowers but I can heal as well! I’m so happy! I have something special like my older siblings!” 

Lance takes hold of Keith’s hands and spins them both of around, laughing in both delight and relief. Keith joins in giggling  as well, unable to help himself. Lance’s laugh is just contagious.

They are cut off from their mini celebration when they hear groans from the seaweed bed, they had forgotten Shiro in their moment of jubilee.

Shiro opens his eyes, disoriented, “K-keith?” he croaks out, trying to sit up.

“Shiro!” 

Keith immediately swims to his brother’s side, helping him and burying his face into Shiro’s chest, sobbing in relief. Lance hangs back a bit, giving the brothers privacy

“Y-you’re awake! S-shiro, I…I was so worried I thought, you’ll never wake up again and that I have lost you. I’m so sorry, I should’ve, I should’ve listened to you and I’m so sorr-” Keith plows on, his words muffled.

“Woah there kiddo, slow down, I’m here,” Shiro says as he rubs Keith’s back, trying to calm down his younger brother, “It’s gonna take a whole lot more to take me out heh”

“Though there is a questionable lack of pain in my tummy,” Shiro continues, letting go of Keith to assess himself, “I’m sure I had a wound right here…”

Keith taps Shiro to get his attention, “About that…”

Keith moved to the side to reveal Lance silently watching them. At the gesture, Lance takes notion and swims forward, smiling cheerfully at Shiro.

“Oh, who is this Keith?” asks Shiro, confused on as to why there’s a merboy with them but he smiles back at Lance nonetheless.

“Hello! My name is Lance”, Lance brightly presents himself. At the mention of Lance’s name, Shiro perks up,  _That name sounds familiar._

“He’s  _Lance_ , Shiro, if it wasn’t for him, I might have…lost you.”

Keith then proceeded to tell Shiro of how he had sought Lance’s help after Shiro had become unconscious for almost two weeks. Recounting of how Lance’s singing had healed his wounds.

Meanwhile Shiro managed to put on his finger on as to why the name had sounded familiar.

He remembered the boy that Keith had always gushed on about, ranting about him for hours about ‘His voice is seriously so  _pretty_ Shiro, just as pretty as his face’, or ‘I want to give him all the prettiest things I can find’, which leads to where they are right now. Shiro had spent countless times teasing Keith about his blatant crush on the boy and he’s certainly not passing up the chance right now, ignore the fact that he just narrowly avoided death.

“Ohh,  _the_ Lance, you mean the merboy you had a crush on?” he asks with a shit-eating grin.

“Shiro!” Keith screeches indignantly, face taking on the color of a corallium. The boy in question, Lance, just tilts his head to the side, he did not catch what Shiro had said, too busy ogling the skeleton pile on one side of the cave.

The older teen guffaws, though it turned into coughing, he’s still feels  _so sore._

Lance hearing the coughing, takes on a worried face, “You should rest more Mr. Shiro, you just woke up from a week-long coma”

“Please don’t call me mister, “Shiro wheezes, “I’m not  _that_ old”

“But thank you, Lance, for saving my life,I didn’t know mermaids can heal through singing, I owe you one,” hearing this Lance smiles proudly.

“You as well Keith,” Shiro’s smile is fond though it turned stern, “Even so, I wont have you pull that stunt again, young man.”

Keith, thinking he was off the hook, winces at this.

“What you did was very dangerous. Promise me you wont do that again Keith, I cant have you doing dangerous stuff all the time, _I cant lose you too._ ”

Seeing his brother’s pained face, Keith feels the guilt.

“I promise Shiro, I wont do it again. I wont go to the open waters again”, Keith dejectedly vows.  _Looks like it’s goodbye to the adventures I was planning on-_

“You just have to wait until you’re much older Keith, I’ll even accompany you, just not now okay?” 

“Really!?”

“Really, now come here”, Shiro says as he beckons Keith into a hug and teasingly adds,”You too, Lance, my savior~”

Lance giggles as he joins in on the group hug, sighing contentedly. He turns to Keith and whispers, “You still haven’t spoken of why you went to the open waters.” 

“Err, maybe I’ll tell you next time”

“Keith!”

 


	9. Cuddly Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](http://kiilea.tumblr.com/post/172384913031/more-of-this-klance-nonsense-instagram) by Kiilea

He knew Lance was cuddly. **  
**

Had seen it with Hunk, and how he would hang off the guy during team meetings, and with Pidge, who would tolerate his loitering with a patience that far exceeded her age.

He would even cling to Allura, if she didn’t knock him on his ass beforehand, and leaning on Shiro and Coran whenever possible was a given.

So yeah, Keith figured he would be prepared for Lance’s attentions to be turned on him after they had established some sort of relationship. And to an extent he had been, but there were days when Lance’s koala-esque behaviours were entirely too overwhelming, and Keith would struggle to keep his attentions on the tasks at hand, instead finding himself caught up in the waves of affection Lance created.

And though Keith loved those days, and how they would end with himself and Lance tangled up somewhere breathless and grinning, he knew that the distractions weren’t fair for the rest of the team. Their participation in meetings and mission debriefings was required as part of the ever-evolving job description of Voltron, and it was hard to give any meaningful input with Lance curled up in his lap demanding his full focus.

Keith would, of course, much prefer to run off somewhere cozy and private and give the boy just that, but he had to try to contribute as a Paladin, and that meant partially ignoring the blue paladin currently wrapped around him like a boa constrictor as Shiro went over a strategy for infiltrating a nearby Galra base.

But as Lance nuzzled closer into the crook of his neck, warm and soft and reassuring, Keith was sure that sneaking onto a planet full of hostile aliens would be a simpler task.

Still, he had to try.

In hindsight, he actually did a pretty decent job of suppressing his desires to smother Lance’s lips with his own, making it a good fifteen minutes into the discussion and absorbing a vast majority of the words being said. But Lance, apparently, had other ideas that didn’t involve the same end goals, and it was with a small grunt that Keith’s determinations were entirely derailed.

Lance’s head moved upwards, brows furrowed and lower lip jutting out in a spectacular pout as he grunted again, louder this time, seeing as his first attempt went unanswered. Keith glanced down at him, noticing the expression on his face; eyes closed and forehead pinched in the middle…It was adorable, and for a moment he was too overcome with how pretty Lance was to comprehend the words exhaled with the next breath.

“Kiss me…”

_Did he just-_

He felt a smile tug at his lips, registering after a moment what it was Lance had asked as helium filled his chest. He shouldn’t play along…should really pay attention to the meeting and keep his mind on track.

But Lance’s pout was growing more childish by the second; hands tugging needily into the fabric of the sweater Hunk managed to buy them during the last Space Mall visit. And Keith was not a strong man.

At least not when it came to Lance.

“What?” he teased, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the others. If he was going to stop listening to them he intended to do it as respectfully as possible. “I didn’t hear you Lance.”

The boy grunted again, brows lowering deeper over shut eyes as his chin bobbed upward.

And all Keith could do was laugh fondly at the sight.

“Aren’t you a whiny baby?” he cooed as he turned in his seat, angling his body to face Lance fully. His hands moved to cradle him like the child he was mimicking, but it was endearing, and when Lance spoke again it was in an impatient, almost cranky tone of voice.

“Oof, Keith, c’mon…”

_How can I deny him when he says my name like that!_

So he didn’t.

He fulfilled Lance’s request and dipped his head to meet supple lips, sighing against them as Lance practically melted into his chest.

He felt Lance’s mouth upturn against his own; knew that the boy was smiling now, content to have his wishes granted, and as they parted for a quick breath, heard him mumble a victorious “that’s better” before diving back in.

Keith was weak, and he failed in his efforts of ignoring Lance. He could just barely process the complaints of his friends in the background, likely noticing them no longer paying attention as was promised at the beginning of the meeting. He felt bad…knew he should really work on his resolve.

But in the end it was a win, and his team couldn’t  _really_  blame him. They knew how Lance was. If anything Keith should have been pitied for having to combat the constant flow of affection on his own. He should’ve been rewarded, in all honesty, for lasting as long as he had.

_You guys try not kissing him every waking minute of the day. It’s practically impossible._

Still, he doubted they would consider that a valid argument, no matter how true, and vowed to keeping working at it; to attempt saying no to Lance every now and again. They had work to do, saving the universe all that fun stuff.

So he would try again. Some other time.

But for now he would enjoy the stolen moment with Lance; savour it and cherish it as he did with all the memories they shared.

Besides, the boy had asked for a kiss. Who was Keith to deny such a request?


	10. Idk anymore

I love seeing those posts  ~~(memes)~~  about Lance following in Keith’s footsteps after Iverson told him not to.

Because in all honesty, I can see some sort of parallel playing out if a Klance arc ever happens.

Like Lance would be sitting with Keith overlooking a sunrise on a planet they’ve just saved. They have some time to themselves in the aftermath of battle. And Lance sort of smiles as he thinks back on all that’s happened.

“You know,” he starts, twirling his thumbs idly, “Iverson once warned me against following in your footsteps. And I used to think that I never would, that I would carve my own path and ignore the one you had laid out. I hated imagining myself trailing behind you, stuck in your shadow, and I hated Iverson more for assuming I would. But I was wrong.”

And he looks over at Keith, who’s watching without speaking because he doesn’t really know what to say to this sudden confession. But somehow he finds the words, hushed and hesitant as they are.

“What do you mean?”

Lance smiles, but it’s a different expression than what Keith had grown used to. It’s not humorous so much as fond; admiration tinged with affection.

“I would follow you anywhere. Willingly. Without a doubt. There are no other footsteps I’d rather walk in.”

Keith can only stare for a long moment, tongue heavy in his mouth, but then he feels his lips quirk upwards, and he stares off at the rising star this planet orbits. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I can’t let you do that.”

And he sees Lance’s face fall; eyes downcast and watery, brows tilted up as he opens his mouth to speak. But Keith is faster, and takes Lance’s hand in his own as he leans forward.

“I want you by my  _side_  Lance. I want to look  _over_ and see your face, not behind me. And any path you go I’ll be there, holding your hand if you’ll let me, so we can forge a path for the both of us to walk on.” 

He squeezes their fingers together for emphasis, and Lance’s eyes are blurry as his lower lip begins to tremble. But he’s smiling, and Keith closes the remaining distance between them by pressing a soft kiss to the paladins forehead. 

“No more talk about walking in my shadow,” he whispers as he pulls away, but not so far that their breaths don’t mingle. “Let’s both face the sun together.” 

Lance nods, a tear leaking from his eye that Keith tenderly brushes away, and together they turn to watch the brilliant light of day colour the landscape before them, feeling the warmth of the sun on their cheeks as they sit and watch it all unfold. 

Side by side.

Together.


	11. Pianist au

**  
**He doesn’t hear it at first; the gentle knock on his door. **  
**

In fact it takes several seconds before he registers the sound at all, so absorbed in his playing he is. He wants to ignore it, to pretend he hadn’t heard and that there was nothing but him and his piano in all the universe, but he realizes with a smidge of guilt the time, and that his neighbours likely don’t appreciate being woken up to Chopin’s Spring Waltz, no matter how lovely the tune.

So with a resigned sigh, Keith stands, stretching out his back as he does, and heads towards the door.

Only, the knocking has seized, and before he can check to see if whoever it had been is still there, he sees a small, folded note on his floor, likely having been slid through the bottom of the door.

_Uh oh…_

He’s been in this apartment for nearly a year now, and though the majority of his neighbours are elderly and don’t mind his playing much, so long as the hours are reasonable, there are still some who complain.

But it hasn’t happened for a while now, so he’s confused as he stares down at the paper. He hadn’t been playing that loud…not really. And it isn’t like seven in the morning is all that early to begin with, especially for the folks who shared the same floor as him.

_So who…?_

And then Keith remembers the new addition to their building.

_Oh…crap. Right._

He’d seen the moving vehicles the day before, and though his curiosity had been spiked momentarily at the idea of a fresh face amongst all the aging, he had gotten lost in his playing and the sun had slipped behind the buildings without him noticing. He had yet to properly introduce himself to the new neighbour and let them know of his profession and habits that resulted in his incessant playing of the piano.

_They probably heard me and aren’t too impressed with their loud neighbour._

Keith huffs in frustration as he bends to retrieve the letter, anticipating the angry message that likely awaits him and preparing himself to make a heartfelt apology to whoever had left it.

But as he unfolds the note he’s shocked to find it holds no animosity; no curses or threats or even frowny faces.

Instead there’s but a single sentence, and Keith reads it over several times to ensure he’s seeing it right.

> _**A humble request to the pianist:  
> ** **Liebestraum no. 3 in A flat** _

_A_. _..request?_

Never, in all his time here, has he been asked to play something specific. Sure, he’s gotten numerous compliments and pats on the back by the older community he lives with, but not once had any of them bothered to make a request.

It’s…encouraging, to say the least, and fills Keith with a motivation he can hardly suppress.

And why should he? Clearly someone wants to hear him play, and Liebestraum no. 3 in A flat is a song he knows well, so why not give his new neighbour a little show?

Because it  _has_  to be the new tenant. There’s just no denying it.

So Keith sits back down at his piano, cracking his fingers as he grins down at the note he places in front of the sheet music, and pauses.

_I have to make sure they can hear…_

With that in mind he jumps up and rushes over to his balcony, where he throws open the door and windows, ensuring that whoever made this request of him is able to experience it in perfect clarity.

He nods, content that his efforts are enough, and goes back to his piano.

And with a deep breath, he begins.

It’s not like diving into water, his playing. It’s not sudden or drastic or loud and startling.

It’s soft, and calm, like watching a droplet from a faucet fall into a sink full of bubbles. Or hearing tall grass bend gently in a light breeze. His fingers move weightlessly across the keys; feather on ivory, and his whole body sways as the music rises and swells.

He’s caught up in the waves he produces, but he’s not drowning. He’s floating, miraculously, wonderfully,  _beautifully_ in that space between what is real and what is imagined. And as the notes grow more intense and eager to be heard, he lets them out, not withholding as his fingers channel the magic he can harness.

It’s amazing, watching him play, but in the solarity of his apartment, no one but the passing pigeons witness the genius pianist. They only hear him, down in the streets below, or on a passing breeze, or through an open window a few floors up, the tune bouncing off empty walls and unpacked boxes.

The strangers hear the music Keith makes, and stop for a moment, pausing their busy lives as they search for the source. But he’s hidden away, so instead they close their eyes and imagine whatever images the notes bring to their minds.

Memories of a loved one from a time before the world changed.

Visions of a future in which all hopes and dreams are easily obtained.

Inspirations to be able to play just as he does; to know how it feels to create such flawless melodies.

But no matter how the music impacts the listener, all who hear it find themselves with a smile on their face as the notes fade away and the hustle of life rushes back to fill the silence the song has carved. They open their eyes and wonder if maybe, just maybe, it was all a dream.

Keith cannot fathom the impact his playing has on the world just outside his apartment walls; he’s never stopped to wonder.  _Couldn’t_ , even if he tried. See, when Keith plays, everything else ceases to exist. There is only himself and the piano.

Nothing more.

And even at that there are times where Keith will finish a piece and wonder if he had even played it to begin with; having no recollection of actually touching the keys. But he must have, since the piano echoes faintly with the memory of recent notes, and his foot is still lifting from the petal as he blinks his way back to reality.

Those are the moments Keith loves best; the ones he strives for when he performs.

And it’s one such moment he finds himself woken from as he finishes the piece; the sound of faint applause drifting into his apartment and reminding him that there exists a world outside the one he’s just created.

He stands, wandering over to his balcony as the clapping grows in volume, realizing that it’s coming from a floor or so above him, and an overwhelming sense of joy fills his entire being.

He’s received applause before, in greater numbers and higher volumes than this single clap could ever hope to achieve, but for some reason Keith feels more thankful than ever for the sound of those two hands hitting together.

It’s a symbol of approval, of a job well done, and Keith knows that whoever made the request for him to play is content with his performance.

It’s gratifying, to be appreciated for his work in such a domestic setting, but it feels more genuine, more empowering, and it makes Keith want to know if whoever left the note has any more requests.

Maybe he’ll go up and introduce himself later. FInd out who was behind it all.

But for now Keith stands in the doorway leading out to his balcony, listening to the sound of a strangers applause and wondering if this feeling of elation is what people experience when they hear him play.

And though the song has ended and he’s back in the real world, Keith can feel himself begin to drift upwards as his lungs pump helium into his heart, caught up in the residual elation that accompanies his playing, and he doesn’t want to leave this moment.

The clapping has ended, but still Keith lingers on the balcony, smiling to himself as he commits it all to memory. The notes of Liebestraum no. 3 in A flat lingering on his fingertips as he taps them against the windowsill.

And he doesn’t hear it at first; the gentle knock on his door.

But when he does register the noise, and walks over to open it, he’s met with the most astonishing pair of blue eyes, and a smile that could rival the sun slowly making its way into the sky.

“Hi,” the stranger says, holding out a hand for Keith to shake. He does, numbly, and the man grins. “I’m Lance.”

“Keith,” he hears himself reply, and Lance winks.

“Well then Keith,” he says, gesturing towards the piano. “Can I make another request?”

And Keith nods, feeling, somehow, like his life is about to change in a major way, but he doesn’t ponder it, and instead invites Lance inside to share in the worlds he creates when he plays, eager for each new request.


	12. Hug au

##  **Hugs-for-Hire**

So, you know how you can [hire someone to snuggle ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.nbcnews.com%2Fbusiness%2Fbusiness-news%2Fprofessional-cuddler-offers-hugs-hire-f2D11650793&t=NmQyZjcxYzVmNjVmNTkwY2M3YzE1MTdhOWNiMDAwZjhhYzdiMTM5YSxoSkVaOWVYeQ%3D%3D&b=t%3APbtA6AY5BaAX59GgnjRKuw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fvulpes--vulpes.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170613140562%2Fi-just-thought-up-the-cutest-au&m=1)with for a few hours? (yes it’s a thing check the link). Well picture this:

  * Keith has just moved to a new city, away from Shiro and the only home he’s ever known (in a different time zone perhaps)
  * He’s working a job that doesn’t allow for much socialization, not that he’d partake in it anyway, but the fact remains:
  * **He’s lonely af.**
  * And it’s when he’s walking home one day and sees this add in the window of a shop 
  * “Hugs for Hire”
  * And basically all he has to do is call this number, meet this person, and then get to cuddle with them for an hour or so (for a small fee)
  * So Keith, because he’s impulsive and thinking “what the hell I could use a good hug”, calls
  * He meets Hunk, and they meet and sign some papers and then go to Keith’s apartment and snuggle on the couch
    * And yeah he’s mega weirded out by this at first
    * Probably just thought it would be a quick hug
    * But Hunk is easy to talk with and super friendly and  _majorly comfortable to sleep on,_ so it’s not awkward
    * And it’s not like he’s been sleeping all the well to begin with so the nap is welcome
    * He finds he sleeps so much better with someone warm next to him anyway, and he’s happier, in general
  * So Keith makes it a regular thing
  * Hunk will come over, they’ll pass out on the couch, and wake up an hour later feeling refreshed and say goodbye
  * It’s Keith’s strange little way of getting the physical affection he needs without having to actually work for it
    * Needless to say he’s pretty happy with the situation
  * Until one day, where he’s expecting Hunk to be behind the door when he opens it, there’s a tall, lanky, not at  _all_  cuddly looking guy at his step
  * “Hunk is sick,” is all he says before waltzing in, leaving Keith completely baffled as he stands with the door still wide open
  * “The names Lance,” the guy says, and Keith wants to say something back, to ask him to leave or see if Hunk is alright, but Lance doesn’t give him the chance
  * He just keeps talking
    * “Well are you going to close the door? It’s freezing outside!”
    * “Have any snacks? Or just water? I could use some water right now.”
    * “Ah, this cup is adorable!”
    * “Dude your sink if  _full_  of dirty dishes, how am I supposed to work in these conditions.”
    * “Pass the dish soap.”
  * And Keith watches, completely speechless, as Lance cleans his kitchen (?)
  * He’s finally able to speak again when Lance starts to take off his jacket
    * K: “Umm, what are you doing?”
    * L: “I don’t like cuddling in this. Not comfy at all.”
    * K: “No, I mean, why are you  _here_. Why didn’t Hunk just cancel? I don’t mind-”
  * But Lance cuts him off with a wave of his finger.
    * “He was going to, but he knows how much you like the sessions and didn’t want to disappoint. So he asked if I could go in his place. And ta-da! Here I am.”
  * At this point he’s moved to the couch, sprawling across it and patting the place next to him.
    * “C’mon man, times-a-wastin.”
  * Keith wants to argue; say he doesn’t know who this guy is, or that he’s awkward with the sudden switch of cuddle-buddies
  * But he’s tired, and Lance just cleaned his dishes…so he can’t just kick him out 
  * Or well, he  _could_ , but that would be rude.
  * So instead he goes and sits down next to Lance, all quiet and shy because this guy isn’t Hunk and he’s not as easy to talk with (mainly because he hasn’t been given the opportunity) 
    * But mostly because…well, he’s hot. And Keith isn’t quite sure what to think about that
  * Lance can sense his hesitation, and thus takes the lead by wrapping his arms around Keith’s torso and pulling him down gently to lay beside him properly on the couch
  * He then nestles Keith’s head to his shoulder and sighs contently
    * “You smell nice,” he comments, and Keith nearly chokes at the random compliment
    * “Uh…thanks?”
    * “What kind of shampoo is that? Mint? Citrus? Both? Do you condition as well? Dude, your hair is  _so_  soft!”
  * And Keith begins to realize that Lance is very much  _not_  the same type of cuddler as Hunk
  * See, Hunk usually just passes out, which is fine with Keith, since the rhythmic breathing and warmth of the guy is peaceful 
    * And Keith doesn’t have to worry about keeping up a conversation 
    * So he can just lay there and enjoy the feeling of arms around him
  * But Lance?
  * Lance won’t shut up.
  * And his hands don’t keep still. They roam, and wander, and play with Keith’s hair without asking (though Keith is unsure what his answer would be should Lance ask)
  * Still, Keith is having a hard time relaxing with Lance’s constant reminders of his presence
    * L: “Do you have enough room by the way?”
    * K: “Yeah-”
    * L: “Ok cool then scootch over. I’m being smushed.”
    * K: “How? Hunk never complained-”
    * L: “Did you sleep  _beside_ Hunk, or on  _top_  of him?” Lance interrupts, and Keith feels himself blush for no reason at all, which is answer enough apparently. 
    * L: “Figured. We can do that if you want-”
    * K: “NO!”
  * He bites his tongue at the sudden outburst, and feels Lance’s laughter in his chest 
    * L: “Really, I don’t mind-”
    * K: “No. This is fine.”
  * Because there’s no way in hell Keith can wiggle himself between those long, slender legs and proceed to just pass out. 
  * No way.
    * L: “Alrighty…then pass that blanket.”
    * K: “You’re cold?”
    * L: “Yeah dude your house is freezing.”
  * Keith does as asked, and covers them both with a blanket he has on the back of the couch
  * And then, because Lance  _is still_ shivering, he nuzzles in a bit closer, and feels Lance sigh at the added heat
    * L: “Much better,” he whispers, and  _fuck Keith is not going to make it another hour._
  * Somehow he does though
    * Because at one point Lance falls asleep, and Keith uses those few minutes to just…look at who he’s snuggling with
    * He notices the splash of freckles over his nose…the length of his lashes…the curve of his lips-
    * And then he has to flip over because his face is burning with how attractive Lance is and his body is betraying him in incredibly embarassing ways
  * They end up going over time, but Lance doesn’t charge him extra
    * “I enjoy the company just as much,” he explains, and that really resonates with Keith
    * Maybe he’s not the only lonely soul in this city looking for someone to hold
    * And as much as he loves cuddling with Hunk, there’s something just as comforting about the constant flow of words coming from Lance
    * It’s theraputic
    * It’s  reassuring
    * It’s domestic, almost…
    * And it’s something Keith begins to crave more than mere arms around him
  * After that realization he starts asking for Lance more and more, and you can imagine where that leads
    * mutual. freaking.  _pining_.
    * And oh so much fluff.
  * But yeah that’s all I have for now
  * thank you for your time 




	13. Basketball au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](http://edelwary.tumblr.com/post/169750268430/au-where-keith-is-a-basketball-player-and-he-has-a) by edelwary

The restaurant had a bell above the door, to notify staff when a customer walked in.

Usually Lance hated it, seeing as it entailed work and dealing with obnoxiously loud children demanding they get their French fries for free.

But at precisely 4:37pm each Wednesday and Friday, he would eagerly run to the front counter when the bell rang out; smile natural and not forced, as it usually was.

Why?

A few reasons, namely the tell-tale squeak of gym shoes on linoleum, the shock of red jersey with the lion logo of the local highschool printed on the front, and the horrendously out-of-date hairstyle that Lance consistently poked fun of.

But if he were being completely honest, he sort of liked the mullet.

Or maybe he just liked the person who sported it.

“Hey Keith,” he called out as the boy entered the building, and Keith looked up with a grin, face flushed from practice and hair down loose.

“Lance,” he nodded in return, sitting at the counter and letting his bag fall to the ground with a soft thud.

It was only when Keith came in that Lance wished the barrier wasn’t there. He wondered briefly if Coran would get mad at him for jumping over it…or if Keith would meet him halfway.

_I wonder how he would react…._

Lance felt his face heat at the thought, and quickly turned his back to prevent Keith from seeing him blush.

“The usual?” he asked, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him, but the resounding ‘yeah, please,’ that came from behind told him it hadn’t.

_Thank god._

He set about preparing a strawberry milkshake and put an order in for unsalted fries, just the way Keith liked them. It was an odd request; one that Keith had yet to waiver from since the restaurant had opened, and it had taken Lance a long while to work up the courage to ask  _why,_ especially considering Keith would load up his plate with salt as soon as Lance handed it over, so it wasn’t like he had a sodium allergy or anything.

Was that even a thing?

Regardless, Lance could still remember how that conversation had gone, with Keith blushing so red he nearly matched his jersey, not to mention the way he had ducked his head in an attempt to hide his coloured cheeks.

“My brother said if you order them unsalted then they’re made fresh…”

Lance recalled how outlandish that idea had been, and had said as much, but after lingering in the kitchen doorway after putting through the request, he had realized the truth behind the logic.

Fresh fries, made specially without salt, which Keith would then poison with copious amounts of the stuff.

They had laughed about it afterwards, and that had been the starting point in their friendship outside of school.

See, though they were in the same grade, none of their classes ever lined up, what with Keith being more heavy into the sports and art departments and Lance focusing on the sciences. Aside from the occasional wave or smile in the hallway, the two never really hung out, much less partook in a decent conversation outside of pleasantries.

So Lance had resolved himself to admiring from afar, or sneaking into basketball practices just to watch Keith play.

That had been the plan at least, until Coran had opened the diner. Though new in principle, the place was aesthetically stuck in the 60’s, which meant all employees were required to wear uniforms that replicated that nostalgia. It was embarrassing, but the pay was decent, and it wasn’t like Lance had much for extra-curricular activities anyway.

Still, he hadn’t been expecting the job to be anything more than mediocre customer service and greasy burgers, but somewhat surprisingly, the restaurant was pretty popular, primarily among teenagers, and Lance’s own friends visited so often that it never truly felt like work. More like paid conversation and food service.

So yeah, it was a pretty good gig.

And then Keith had walked in, and things had gotten a whole lot better.

It had been awkward at first, their interactions, and Lance had fumbled over his words as Keith browsed the menu. And after serving him his food, odd as it was, Lance would pretend to wipe counters, or clean equipment, or  _anything_  that kept him from having to converse with the boy.

It was finally when he worked up the courage to ask about the fry thing that it became easier to talk; less strained and more natural, like the ice had finally been broken through after weeks of pacing.

He and Keith had sort of fallen into a routine after that, with Lance preparing his order while Keith folded napkins into paper cranes, all the while gossiping about school and class and if the janitors would ever properly clean the tables in the cafeteria.

It was nice, and Lance had learned quite a lot about the boy in the mullet; his ambitions, his fears…how his favourite animal was a hippo, and how adorable that was. They were friends, he thought, and though that was all fine and dandy, Lance couldn’t help but want…more.  

It was a feeling that was further solidified with each passing day, and all at once his and Keith’s biweekly meetings shared in the diner were not nearly enough. Maybe he was being greedy, but Lance wanted to spend more time with Keith, outside of a work environment…outside of school.

But he was too afraid to ask.

Too scared of the taste of rejection, and what it would do to their delicately crafted arrangement.

_I should just be happy with this. Talking with him for a bit twice a week._

_I can’t really complain…_

_I don’t even know if he likes-_

_“_ Oh, Lance?”

Keith’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Lance blinked as he realized he had been about to pour the milkshake into a bowl rather than a glass.

_That would have been embarrassing.._

_“_ Hmm?” he answered, turning back to see Keith watching him with a small smile, paper crane folded neatly by his arm.

_How does he even do that?_

_“_ Can I get this to go? I have a hair appointment and my brother is waiting for me outside.”

Lance felt his insides plummet, both at the knowledge that Keith couldn’t stay to chat with him and the realization of what the words ‘hair appointment’ entailed.

“You’re cutting off your mullet?!”

He hadn’t meant for the words to come out as loud as they had, but if Keith had been startled, he didn’t show it. Instead he raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly over the counter as he stared up at Lance.

“I thought you hated it,” he said coyly, and Lance bit the inside of his cheek as his ears began to burn.

“I never said that,” he replied, turning away to finish Keith’s order. The fries had just come out, so he busied himself with putting them in a to-go container while Keith huffed out a laugh.

“Actually that’s  _exactly_  what you said, on multiple occasions. I even have it on video.”

Lance scoffed, placing Keith’s food in a bag and tossing in several salt packets. He set it down on the table between them, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“Well, ok fine. Maybe I said I hated it. But…I don’t know, I’ve gotten used to it. I can’t picture you with any other hairstyle.”

Keith hummed, his smile dimpling his cheeks.

_Not fair._

_“_ I was thinking of getting a bowl-cut actually,” he said, and Lance nearly choked.

“I would ban you from this restaurant if you did.”

Keith laughed, and Lance could feel his heart bubble and coo pleasantly at the sound, pleased that he had been the cause behind it. He watched as Keith shook his head as the chuckles eased, and how he tapped on the lid of his milkshake idly before going on.

“Nah, I’m just getting it trimmed. But um,” he trailed off, eyes no longer meeting Lance’s gaze. “I was wondering, um…There’s a basketball game tomorrow, and I know it’s a Saturday and you probably have plans already, but I-uh…if you wanted to, I have some tickets and you could come? If you wanted? Maybe bring one of your friends or, um…I mean you could bring anyone you wanted really. I don’t know if you have-uh, if you’re with anyone-” he broke off as he cleared his throat, cheeks flaming as he went on. “It’s just a dumb highschool game but I thought, if you wanted, you could come watch and-if you’re busy I totally get it, no worries-”

“Keith,” Lance interrupted, grinning now as he realized what Keith was doing, and doing his best not to giggle at how much flustered the boy had become. He had to remind himself to keep it together for just a little while longer, lest he start cheering in the middle of the restaurant. “I’d love to go.”

The boy glanced up at him, eyes widening in momentary disbelief, and then he was beaming.

“Cool! Cool. Uh, here-” he reached into his pocket and withdrew two tickets, sliding them under the paper crane he had crafted. “And maybe after we could, um…like hang out maybe? Go to a movie or something..if you wanted to of course.”

_Oh my god he’s asking me out on a date!_

Lance bit his lip, trying and failing to keep his excitement contained.

“Yeah, for sure,” he managed, “only, there’s one thing…”

Keith’s face dropped, and he stared at Lance as if expecting the worst.

“It’s just,” he went on, “after your game…you’re gonna be all sweaty and gross, and I’m not really into the smell of B.O. and-”

“Oh my god Lance,” Keith cut him off, grinning as he sighed in relief. Lance laughed, his insides fluttering uncontrollably. “I’ll shower, obviously. Just text me where you’re at after the game and I’ll meet you there.”

He grabbed his things and turned towards the door, but Lance stopped him as he realized he was missing a crucial bit of information.

“Wait! I don’t have your number!”

Keith glanced back over his shoulder, grin mischievous as he nodded towards the counter.

“I gave it to you,” he said, and Lance was only briefly confused, until he remembered the paper crane sitting daintily on top of the tickets Keith had given him. “See you tomorrow!” the boy called out, and Lance heard the bell ring as Keith left.

He wasted no time in lunging towards the origami crane, careful when unfolding it so as not to rip any numbers. And sure enough, written in large, messy handwriting, was a number, followed by Keith’s name and scribbled out heart.

Lance couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he stared at the place Keith had been, and he tucked the tickets into his back pocket before adding the boys name to his contacts.

He then typed out a quick message, realizing Keith had forgotten one other important thing.

**You can take me out to dinner after the game, since you forgot to pay for your fries and shake.**

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply, and snorted as he read it.

**_Oh my god I’m so sorry! I was so nervous about asking you out I completely forgot!!_ **

_Cute…_

**Mhm sure. You were probably just flirting with me for free food. I bet you leave you number in paper cranes for all the local restaurant workers ;)**

And where he had been expecting some jest or teasing remark, what Keith texted back had Lance frozen, staring down at the message in disbelief.

**_Nope. Just you. Have been for awhile now but I guess you never unfolded them._ **

_No way…he’s been leaving those cranes every single visit! Right after we started talking more!_

_Did they all have his number in them?_

He would have to check later, seeing as he kept every one on a shelf in his room, but in the meantime he would remain grinning like an idiot until his shift ended, eager for Saturday night to come.

_I have a date with Keith Kogane…_

_I have…a date…_

_With Keith…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing, and a large group of twelve year olds waltzed up to the counter looking ready to argue about prices, but Lance didn’t mind so much. In fact, he greeted them all with a cheery hello, uncaring about how ridiculous he likely looked to them.

Because he had a date on Saturday with a boy he had been prepared to admire in secret for the rest of his teenage life, and no amount of whining pre-pubescent kids was going to spoil his good mood.  

_I can’t believe he actually asked me out! I’m so excited!_

Now all he had to do was learn how basketball worked.


	14. Hunger Games au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](https://leggylance.tumblr.com/post/169194893889/not-to-sound-basic-as-hell-but-klance) by leggylance

They’re in a bunker waiting. Always waiting.

But for what Keith’s unsure. All he knows is that he’s exhausted, and…scared, if he’s being honest. Shiro is just beyond the door, standing guard until the others return from scouting the area ahead, but again Keith doesn’t know the details of their mission. He could find out easily enough; send a transmission to Pidge or bribe Shiro into talking, but for once, Keith doesn’t bother to ask. 

Oddly enough, he’s content to just sit and wait; his mind blank as his eyes wander the dingy room. 

There are only two others with him, aside from Shiro, and Matt is so absorbed in his work that his presence can hardly be counted as company.

And almost hesitantly, Keith feels his gaze wander over to the the boy with pieces of sky for eyes; his heart clenching almost painfully as he takes in the sight.

Lance is wedged in the corner, his long legs tucked up beneath his chin as his fingers tap relentlessly against his knees. 

 _He never used to fidget that badly before,_  Keith finds himself thinking, but he stops short before the thought is completed.

‘Before’ is a term he tries not to imagine. ‘Before’ holds memories too painful to recall. ‘Before’ was a time Keith can never go back to, no matter how much he wishes it.

And ‘before’ held a version of Lance that smiled more often. Who was carefree and passionate about those he loved. Keith had once thought himself in that category, having grown used to Lance’s constant companionship and…yeah, there had been mutual feelings at one point.  _Strong_ mutual feelings.

But again, that was before.

The Lance he saw now was broken; fragile and mistrusting, and it broke Keith’s heart to see.

So he stands, moving slowly over to where Lance is gently rocking back and forth in place, holding his hands out in front of him so as not to startle the boy.

Blue flickers up to his face, and again Keith feels a pain in his chest as he takes in hollow cheeks, dark under-eye circles, and a deep, skeptical frown.

_I miss his smile…_

“Hey,” he hears himself speak, and it’s pitiful and weak, so he clears his throat and gestures to the ground. “Mind if I join you?”

Lance watches him for a long moment, delicate brows lowering as his eyes narrow.

_He still doesn’t trust me._

_And I don’t blame him. The Capital fucked him up pretty good._

_It’s my fault he’s like this…_

He’s about to give up; put up his walls and walk away from the boy tearing his heart in two, when Lance nods.

It’s a small movement, just the barest of head tilts, but it’s still a nod, so Keith takes a seat.

Lance watches him for a long moment, as if judging what his next action will be, and Keith feels a nervous energy descend. 

_It never used to be this way. Conversation used to flow easily between us…and he would reach out and tuck the stray strands of hair behind my ear…_

_I miss that Lance…why can’t we go back to the way it was-_

He sighs, shaking his head slightly.

_Before…_

_“_ Are you okay?” Lance begins, and Keith’s eyes snap up to his face. Lance’s expression, though still confused and guarded, has traces of concern etched in the lines around his mouth. It’s refreshing to see, and Keith finds himself leaning forward out of habit, ready to hold his hand or wrap him up in a hug, saying that everything is alright.

But even if Lance  _hadn’t_  been taken and tortured by the Capital, leaving behind this empty husk of a boy, Keith wouldn’t have been able to do that. Because this was war, and nothing was  _ever_  alright. 

Still, he doesn’t want to ruin this opportunity for conversation, and hastily reassures Lance with a lie.

“M’fine,” he mumbles, and Lance nods, not pushing the subject further. The silence is back, and Keith feels himself slowly sink into it, like quicksand tugging at his ankles and promising a slow death. So he tries again, desperate to hear Lance’s voice, no matter how drenched in suspicion it may be. “Are…are you?”

He curses himself as soon as the words are out, because  _of course he’s not okay you twat! He can barely trust his own mind in this hellscape of a place, and the person he’s been poisoned to hate is asking such a stupid question?!_

But Lance, surprisingly, laughs.

It’s not the same tittering giggle that Keith remembers, the one that embeds joy deep in his gut and has his cheeks burning from smiling too much, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, and Keith blinks at the sound. 

“I’m not sure what ‘okay’ even means at this point,” he says, and Keith is momentarily speechless, having not heard this many words in a row from the boy for weeks. He snaps out of it though, and shrugs.

“Me either,” he confesses. “I guess…we’re both still alive, with air in our lungs, so maybe that’s what ‘okay’ means.”

Lance huffs out a short laugh; just an exhale of agreement, but it’s more than Keith could have hoped for.

“Maybe…” he sighs then, shoulders sagging as his fingers idly tap away. Keith suppresses the desire to wrap them up in his own hands, knowing Lance would likely react badly to that situation. “I just,” Lance goes on, and Keith leans forward to catch his words. “I want it to be more. I want to be able to say that I’m okay and  _mean_  it, you know? Not just to be alive, but to be living. I mourn the days I was able to reply with ‘I’m okay’ and not have to wonder if I truly am.”

Keith knows his mouth is hanging open; felt it drop halfway through Lance’s speech, and he reminds himself to close it as blue eyes once again wander up to his face.

He wants to comfort Lance; to promise a tomorrow where ‘okay’ would mean everything he wanted it to mean, but like ‘before’, it’s a term for the past, and Keith just doesn’t know enough about the future to make those guarantees.

So instead he shuffles closer, trying not to feel the sting as Lance’s shoulders stiffen, and takes out a small turquoise item from the pouch around his neck.

It’s sea glass; polished smooth by the waves that wore it down, depositing it on the beach to be found by human hands.

At least, that’s what Lance had told him when he gave it to him back in the arena. 

Keith had thought the gesture to be all part of the ruse they had constructed, and thus hadn’t placed much sentiment in the object at the time. But now? Now it was one of his most treasured possessions; a reminder of ‘before’.

Lance was gaping at it, and reached out a hesitant hand to point.

“I-” he stopped, frowning up at Keith as if seeing him for the first time; eyes searching and almost… _almost_  familiar. It’s disorientating, and Keith feels his cheeks darken under the scrutiny. But then Lance blinks, and his gaze wanders back to the glass. “I think I remember that,” he says, and Keith reaches out to gently grab his hand, unfolding long brown fingers and dropping the item in Lance’s palm.

“You gave it to me,” he states, and again Lance appears to struggle with that information. His forehead creases as he flips the glass between his fingers, feeling it and rubbing it over his skin. And Keith watches, not knowing how really to react. 

“I did?” Lance asks finally, and Keith is sure his heart just splintered. He ducks his head with a sigh, and then all at once Lance’s hands are on his arm, pulling his attention back up to his face as he inhales sharply. “Can you…help me with something?”

And Keith is already nodding.

“Anything,” he whispers, and Lance breathes in deeply, as if steeling himself.

“I get…I’m not sure,  _images_  that pass through my head sometimes,” he speaks softly, and Keith scoots closer, trying to focus on Lance’s words and not on the fact that his hands are still wrapped around his arm. “They’re memories, I think. but after what happened…” he trails off for a moment, likely recalling whatever horrors the Capital subjected him to, and then stares intently at the glass between his fingers before going on. “It’s hard for me to tell what is real and what is fake. Like this, for instance,” he holds up the glass, relinquishing his hold on Keith’s arm and leaning back against the wall. “I  _feel_  like I can remember finding this on the beach years ago. And I kept it with me ever since. But then…when I try to picture giving it to you, my brain goes all fuzzy and the space between eyes starts to hurt and-” 

Keith reaches out then, patting Lance’s knee as reassuringly as he can, and the boy goes silent; rigid beneath his palm.

So he takes his hand back, like a dog with its tail between its legs, and Lance doesn’t stop him. Still, he seems calmer, so that’s a victory in Keith’s books.

“I can help,” he mumbles, lifting his eyes back to Lance’s. “I can  _try_  to, at least. Just…ask me if something is real, and I’ll tell you if it is or not. And I won’t lie Lance. I promise.”

Lance blinks, gaze lingering on Keith’s face before lowering to the glass in his hands once more. He nods, and Keith feels an unexpected rush of relief flood through him.

“Ok,” Lance begins, and a small smile erupts on his face. “I was the best sharpshooter in the District, real or not real.“

And Keith feels his own smile develop as he answers.

“You were the best of  _all_  the Districts. Probably still are.”

Lance’s cheeks flush, which reminds Keith of times where those blushes were accompanied by sweet kisses, but he shakes the memories from his mind.

More ‘befores’ best left in the past.

“And our District,” Lance goes on, “it’s gone now, real or not real.”

Keith’s smile fades away at the reminder of what happened to their home. All because of this stupid, sometimes pointless war. 

“Real,” he murmurs, and Lance swallows thickly.

“You were the one to blow it up,” he states. “Real or not real.”

Keith gapes up at him, eyes going wide at the possibility. 

_What else have they said about me?! What other lies has the Capital made you believe!?_

“Not real,” he affirms, and Lance maybe looks a bit relieved at that. Still, Keith feels the need to explain. “The Capital destroyed District 12 Lance, not me. I mean, Emperor Zarkon did it in my name, but I  _swear_  had I known their plan…there was nothing I could do to stop them-”

“I believe you,” Lance cuts him off, and Keith gulps back emotions he had been trying so hard to keep hidden. Lance’s hand wanders back to his arm, and Keith leans into the touch. “And…it’s ok,” Lance goes on. “We’re safe now, right? Real or not real.”

“I…I don’t know if I can answer that one,” Keith says truthfully, because ‘safe’ wasn’t even a word in his vocabulary anymore. He didn’t think it ever was.

Lance sighs heavily, staring at the hand on Keith’s arm. And then, miraculously, he slides it down, towards Keith’s wrist, slowly letting their fingers tangle together.

“I remember this,” he breaths, eyes focused on their hands, and Keith longs to take it further; to move forward those few inches and kiss the lips of the boy he had come to care so much about. But he doesn’t. Like a deer in a meadow, he’s frozen; not daring to move lest the moment break.

And then Lance speaks, and the air is knocked from Keith’s lungs more efficiently than the explosives hidden in the sidewalks just outside.

“You love me,” he says, and pieces of sky flicker up to his face, searching for an answer for such an impossible question. “Real or not real.”

But Keith can’t  _not_  answer. Even if he wanted to prevent Lance from the knowing the truth, he didn’t think his resolve was strong enough to keep the words to himself. Because he had always known, for quite some time as well, that Lance was more than a boy he had come to like.

He was more than a friend, more than a soldier, more than a shoulder for him to cry on. 

Lance was like the sun; bright and radiant and bringing life to those around him, and Keith had grown used to the rays of light the boy gave off.

He needed them now, to live, and he had been shrouded in darkness for so long that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to experience the warmth Lance possessed; that he emitted.

It was for those reasons that Keith found himself replying truthfully, just a single word, as he was swallowed by blue.

“Real.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but tears are not on the list. His stomach drops as Lance takes his hands away to hide his face, wiping the wetness on his cheeks as Keith stares numbly. 

“Lance-” he tries, but the boy shakes his head roughly.

“Did I love you?” he asks brokenly, and again, Keith isn’t sure how to respond.

“I think,” he begins, and Lance watches him with shinning, inquisitive eyes. “At one point you did, yes.” It tears him apart to admit, because, for some reason, Keith had been hesitant to accept Lance’s feelings for him. He had been terrified of what they meant, hardly understanding his own. But after all that had happened, Keith found himself even more regretful that he hadn’t told Lance how he felt sooner. 

 _Before,_ he thinks with malice. Now it feels too late. Pointless really.

“But I don’t think you do anymore,” he hears himself say, and beside him Lance sniffles, almost sounding like a laugh.

“I’m not so sure.”

Keith’s head jolts up to face him, frowning slightly as he looks for any sign of a joke. 

_The last thing I need right now is teasing._

But Lance’s expression is sincere, and if Keith were more optimistic, he would have almost said fond. 

“Do you?” he asks. “Love me that is…”

And Lance smiles, a  _real_  smile. A smile from before that Keith hadn’t dared hope to ever see again. It fills him with a happiness that almost seems fake, but Keith can’t deny how his heart beats just a little bit faster as Lance’s sunlight shines down on him.

“I think I always have,” the boy admits, and Keith can hardly feel the rest of his body; he’s floating too high off the ground. “And I don’t think I ever stopped.”

That’s it. Keith has died.

That’s the only explanation for this. Lance giggles, and  _yes! That sounds like him!_    _The real him!_ And Keith feels his jaw quiver at the threat of tears.

“Besides,” Lance continues, tossing the sea glass up in the air and catching it again with his free hand; the other still secured in Keith’s. “I gave you this cool rock, didn’t I? So I must have  _at least_ had a crush.”

And Keith does something he hadn’t imagined himself ever doing again.

He laughs.

And he laughs! And Lance joins in, squeezing their hands together tightly as they gravitate towards one another.

It’s a moment meant to last longer than it does, but as Shiro rushes back into the room, informing them that the others are back and they need to move on, it breaks.

Or, maybe not, because Keith holds the new memory close to his heart; not letting it slip to ‘before’. It’s a hope now, a strong one, and he promises himself that there will be a time where he and Lance can laugh and hold hands as much as they want. 

And as they pack up their things, arming themselves as they vacate the bunker, Lance hands Keith back the sea glass.

“It’s yours,” he says. “It always was.” And he takes off after Matt, leaving Keith with the image of Lance’s smile in his mind, striving to make that a more frequent occurrence, not just a rare moment. 

He thinks back to what Lance said about being okay and  _meaning_  it; not just alive but  _living_  as well. And he’s filled with a new drive; an end goal that goes beyond just defeating the Capital, surpassing mere survival. Keith dreams of a time after the war, where Lance’s smiles are like they were before. And everything is  _more_  than okay.

_I’ll help you learn to love again Lance. I’ll make everything better._

_I promise._

And with fire burning deep in his heart, Keith breathes deeply, preparing himself for whatever was waiting for them in the city beyond.


	15. Red Lion au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a post by [leggylance](https://www.leggylance@tumblr.com)

It starts with denial.

Keith, running off to the Red lion hangar when Allura signals them to form Voltron, eager to do his part for the team.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and pauses just before the door to see Lance, who smiles down at him almost apologetically.

“Uh, hey buddy…”

And Keith stares back in confusion like “Lance shouldn’t you be going to your lion-” but he trails off as he sees Allura in the background open the hangar door to Blue.

And it hits him: they switched. Which means Red is no longer his to pilot. Red, who shares a connection with Keith; who flies fast and listens to what he says and offers reassuring hums in the back of his mind that are familiar and, dare he say,  _loving_. Like being welcomed to a place of safety and comfort, both of which Keith has struggled his whole life to find.

Red was his home. 

But that’s just the thing: past tense. 

Anger is next, but Keith quickly swallows his rage as he looks back up to Lance.

Lance: whose eyebrows are tilted upward as they stare down at him; blue eyes nearly glistening with understanding.

But how could Lance understand-

 _Oh wait_ , Keith thinks.  _He lost Blue. Of course he knows how it feels._

 _But how is this fair? Why can’t Allura pilot Black and everything else remain the same?_ he bargains, but it’s useless. The lions made their choice. Still…

_Wh_ _y should it be us to suffer?_

But Keith has had enough sadness to last him the rest of eternity, and knowing that Lance shares in his depression over losing his lion is oddly reassuring.

That he’s not alone; that there’s someone who gets it. 

And so it goes that he shifts to acceptance, shoving aside all other emotions as he smiles softly down at the ground.

“Right, sorry,” he huffs in a broken laugh. “Forgot.”

“S’okay,” Lance says back, and his voice isn’t carrying the same tone of elation it usually does. It makes Keith want to comfort him; hug him maybe? He doesn’t, but the urge to protect is harder to suppress than the other emotions stirring around in his gut.  

“It’s not permanent, you know,” Lance continues, and Keith glances up with a nod. He knows. Shiro will come back. They’ll find him. And in the meantime Keith just needs to pilot Black.

It’s still hard to accept, but Lance’s words help, so Keith reaches for the bayard at his belt, and holds it out with a small smile.

“She’s yours now. Take care of her.” 

And Lance, who was staring with a near wonderment in his eyes, grins crookedly, and all at once the humour is back.

“As if I have a choice,” he teases, nudging Keith’s shoulder lightly. “You’d murder me if I so much as dent her.”

And Keith agrees, and he hears Red humming her approval and bites back a laugh.

“Then don’t dent her.”

Lance takes the bayard from Keith’s hands, and the warmth it provided seeps away in an instant. He feels naked. Cold. Empty. 

But then Lance clamps a hand down on his shoulder, and suddenly Keith is much too hot. 

“I won’t. I promise,” Lance salutes with the bayard, before stepping passed Keith to open the door leading to Red’s hangar. “She’s in good hands.”

And as he leaves, the metal barrier sliding shut behind him, Keith feels his smile grow fond, try as he might to hide it. 

“The best,” he whispers, but no one hears, save for maybe the mice.


	16. Laughter List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, might have posted this before. No idea.

There’s a list Lance keeps that describes all the stages of Keith’s laughter.

He began it at the start of the Voltron era, back when Keith didn’t laugh as freely as he does now, so each exhale of contentment was cherishable and precious.

Though, back then Lance hadn’t called them that. If anything he’d just been documenting the bizarre ways in which to change Keith’s mood.

An offhand comment here, a stupid face there…just things like that that Lance would pick up on. He’d notice Keith staring from the corner of his eye, lips twitching upwards whenever he did something dumb.

So it had become a sort of game for him: this… _challenge_  to flip the red paladins frown over.

He made jokes more often, performed silly tricks whenever he could…

Soon though, a time came when Lance didn’t have to be doing  _anything_. He could be standing perfectly still in the corner, not making a sound during a meeting, and Keith would glance over with a glint in his eyes. Not upset, or provoking. Just watching. Content to do only that. It was confusing at first, but soon Keith started looking at him without that initial scowl.  

Soon their eyes would meet and Lance would watch that frown disappear in a blink, replaced by a brilliant smile that would send Lance’s mind into turmoil.

And thus, the first entry on his list was just that:

A smile.

But there was a subheading that soon followed. Closed lipped smiles were beautiful, but fleeting. They were smiles of passing: a joke recognized, a comment acknowledged. It was the smiles with teeth that Lance began to pursue.

Those meant lingering feelings of elation: joy not so easily contained.

And whenever he managed to make Keith smile with his pearly whites on full display - tiny fangs poking out over his lower lip - well….those were moments etched deep into Lance’s memories.

But they were nothing compared to the actual laughing.

Now, here’s where things get tricky. Originally, Lance figured Keith only had one laugh. A short chuckle: calm, collected…nothing much but still a laugh. It counted, even if it was more of an exhale than anything.

And for a long while that was all Lance knew. And he was fine with that. Because it was a laugh. It counted.

But then he’d been graced with something  _better._  The day he’d been tricked by Nyma - strapped to a tree on a planet he knew nothing about - humiliated and shamed…

It was Keith who came to get him. And it was Keith who changed his entire mood, flipping it from utter disappointment to complete euphoria.

Because it was Keith who laughed, and it wasn’t that expulsion of contented air that Lance had come to know. It was hearty. Full. Like listening to orchestra finally learning how to play their instruments in harmony.

It felt complete, and Lance’s cheeks were a bright red as Keith laughed at him, but not because he was embarrassed. He was blushing because he’d never once thought he’d ever hear something so miraculous come from those lips.

He’d added another row to his list, and called it ‘The Big One’, thinking he’d never hear it again.

Only, like a fool, Lance had once again underestimated this fiery spirit of a boy.

He began to notice the stages between the laughs after that incident.

It started with the exhale, and then there was a level with noise. Like that first chuckle, but,  _shy_  almost. And then there was the  _actual_  chuckle, which reminded Lance of a hen on helium and made him grin whenever he heard it.

But those were all minor laughs. And though Lance still loved hearing them, they always left him wanting more.

As time went on he discovered a level of  _legitimate_  laughter in which Keith would allow himself to speak the words ‘ha ha’ as he clutched his stomach and doubled over. Those were good too, but Lance didn’t like them as much as the others. Mostly because he only heard them when they were in larger groups, and he begun to think that maybe they were forced.

He’d marked those as ‘The Social Laugh’, and always took it upon himself to target Keith into laughing properly at meeting and events; trying to get him to give  _more_.

And then one day it happened. During a mission de-briefing with the crew. Lance hadn’t even been  _trying_  - had just made an offhand comment about something or other - but for some reason it had forced Keith into a fit of laughter.

The Big One made a reappearance that day, and the best part wasn’t even the sound of it, but rather the look on everyone else’s faces as they’d all turned to stare at Keith in shock, who’d clasped his hand over his mouth in horror.

Lance had been filled with pride, even as Keith had smacked his arm after being scolded by Shiro into behaving. Because he’d done it. He’d heard it again.

After that, so long as Lance was with him, Keith’s Social Laugh slowly died away.

Lance crossed it off his list, and circled The Big One for emphasis.

But there was still so much to discover! Their feelings grew, their attentions shifted, and with it so did Keith’s laughter.

The Big One now had subheadings, ranging from tears in eyes to open-mouthed howling - no sound coming out as Keith collapsed in a fit of humour. Lance loved those ones, because for the most part he was right there with him: gasping for air over the most mundane thing, pain erupting in their sides as they laughed and laughed and laughed.

But on the other end of the spectrum, well…there were laughs that Lance learned about that had his heart fluttering and head spinning wildly: face warm and body yearning.

They were Keith’s Secret laughs. Meant only for him.

Things like The Giggle, which Lance simply  _adores_ , because no one in their right mind would think such a noise possible from such a gruff exterior. But Lance knows. And  _only_  Lance knows, because  _only_  Lance gets to hear it: late at night tucked under the covers, whispering giddily in each others ears.

There’s also The Snort, which had Lance speechless for minutes after hearing it the first time. Because…wow. Keith  _snorts?!_ And it’s  _freaking cute as heck?!_

The only reason that laugh is marked as one of the Secret ones is because he’s yet to make Keith show it to the others. The kid is stubborn, and for some reason he only dissolves into piggy-like laughter when he’s alone with Lance.

It’s frustrating, but Lance isn’t even that mad about it. In fact he finds it incredibly endearing, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He has a bet going with Hunk.

His list grows as the years go on. He keeps adding to it: making amendments, writing notes…

If he wiggles his brows to hint at an innuendo he can get Keith to make a noise in the back of his throat that’s followed by one of those toothy grins.

If he compliments him offhandedly - during a mission or over breakfast - he gets to listen to the shy chuckles. Sometimes there’s even a giggle if they’re alone.

If he does something stupid, like fall out of bed after a dream, or trip during a delegation dinner, he’s blessed with those open-mouth laughs that come and go in spurts - lasting hours afterward and typically resulting in kisses to get him to stop.

His newest edition is The Hiccups, which he’d found out about after a night of celebration: staggering home with arms wrapped around shoulders. He’d bumped into a bush and apologized, confused in his drunken state, and Keith had laughed.

He’d laughed through all the stages, until he’d surpassed them and landed on an entirely new level.

The high-pitched squeak of a hiccup that had interrupted his giggles had sent them both into hysterics.

And Lance loved it.  _Loves_ it. Each day is a new adventure: a new opportunity to hear Keith express his happiness.

And he keeps that list with the stages of laughter.

He brings it out every now and again: looking it over, reminiscing. He can track Keith’s progress using it. He can see how far their love has come, how much they’ve changed.

And it makes Lance happy. More than he can describe with words.

He loves all of Keith’s noises…all his sounds of joy and contentment. He loves them.

He loves Keith.

And when he proposes he thanks Keith for showing him all of it. He thanks the universe for bringing them together. And he asks that Keith continue to laugh with him, through this life and into the next.

 _Laugh with me,_  he says.  _And I’ll laugh with you. Forever and ever, until the stars twinkle and sun smiles with us._

He adds to his list. And no matter what form Keith’s laughter takes, Lance goes to sleep each night thinking he’s never heard anything so sweet.


	17. Keith's room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this post](https://vulpes--vulpes.tumblr.com/post/166455384632/vulpesvulpes-transkeith-so-many-people-write) by transkeith

That was the worst part of moving to a new house.

It wasn’t that he had to introduce himself to the strangers he would now be residing with, or pretend to be a normal happy go lucky child for their sakes.

It was that his room, if he was given one at all, was always barren.

Four walls, usually white or neutral coloured, with maybe a shelf, drawer and bed being the only things separating the chamber from resembling a psych ward.

And the worst part was that Keith knew it would likely remain that way.

Every time he was moved to a new home, if one could even call them that, he was told to only bring what he needed.

Clothes, shoes, and a toy or two if he had them.

The posters from his previous room would remain on those walls. The sticks and rocks and cool pieces of glass he had collected would be tossed. And the space he had been given to make his own for the short while he had been with a family would be taken away and restored to its default state.

And as he grew older Keith had eventually stopped trying to make each room a reflection of himself. He no longer hung pictures, or displayed any treasures, because every time he had to up and leave, it was like having a part of himself torn away; one he couldn’t take with him, and it would be left to rot in the temporary space he had once called his. 

It had stayed that way all throughout his teens, and into his life at the Garrison. He would place his shoes on the shelf, fold his clothing in the drawer, and sleep soundlessly on the bed.

His room was empty and cold, which maybe was reflection of himself after all. 

His small shack in the desert was the closest he had to a real room in a long time. He could decorate it as he sought fit, because, for once in his life, he felt at home, and if someone were to tell him to leave, he could tell them to fuck off. 

The shack was his.  _Truly_  his; and with each new item he hung on the walls, each new rock he picked up from off the ground, it was as if he were finding the pieces of himself that had been left in every room he had ever stayed in. 

And then it was all taken away once again.

So Keith had given up entirely. What was the point? Each time he tried to make a place his own, it was ripped out from underneath him, and all those parts of himself he had been able to retrieve were lost all over. 

His room in space was similar to the ones back on Earth. Four walls, neutral coloured, a shelf, a drawer, and a bed. 

And then Lance happened to see inside, and his reaction had been one of confusion. 

“How can you live like this?” he had asked.

“Why not put up some decorations?” he had suggested.

But Keith had only shook his head in response. 

The next day there was a rock at his door; polished smooth with traces of red and purple stone that tricked along it’s surface. It came with a note that read:

_For the shelf._

The day after, there was a bottle of ancient, worn glass, the words foreign and alien. The note that accompanied it said:

_For the drawer._

And the third day, there was a blanket, patterned with blue and white waves, softer than anything Keith had ever touched, and the note that came with it wrote:

_For the bed._

It went on like that, until Keith’s room had an abundance of treasures given to him by Lance. His pieces were slowly coming back together, forming a version of himself that he hadn’t known existed. 

Because these gifts, these decorations, weren’t merely his own anymore. They were pieces of Lance as well, and Keith’s room was now a reflection of that. 

This room was his own, but as Keith sat on his bed, admiring his vast collection of treasures that now crowded the small space, he smiled to himself, knowing that, in a way, it was Lance’s room now too. 

And that was alright with him. 


	18. Bath and Body au

Lance working at Bath and Body works and having this cutsie little girl in corduroys and pigtails tug on his apron.

“Candle!” she shouts, and he bends to be at her level, smiling warmly.

“Well you came to the right place,” he gestures around them, to the multitude of candles scattered on tables and walls, and the little girl nods enthusiastically.

“What sort of candle are you looking for?” he asks, and she hums deep in thought.

“Maybe…purple?”

Lance laughs and stands.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He moves around a few tables, picking a lilac scented three-wick from off a nearby stand, and returns to the child.

“Like this?” he opens the lid and crouches again, so she can smell, but when she does she scrunches up her nose and turns away.

“Not that purple.”

Lance grins and puts it back.

“What sort of purple then?”

Again, she pauses to think, and Lance scans over the shop to see who she’s with. But there’s no one else browsing the shelves – no parent or guardian of any sort - and he begins to worry.

A hand tugs on his apron once more, and Lance blinks away his apprehension as the child points to a pin on her shirt.

“This kind,” she states in response to his question, and Lance squints to better see what she means. He brightens after a moment, noticing the purple grapes decorating the pin.

“So  _fruitier_  then,” he taps his chin as he thinks, and glances down at the girl with a grin. “Follow me.”

Before he can take a step, a small hand reaches out and clasps around his pinky, and when Lance blinks back down at the tiny face beaming his way, he melts a bit inside.

_So cute oh my gosh!_

“We have a lot of fruity candles here,” he explains as he walks with her, and she listens intently. “Do you like grapes the best?”

She surprisingly shakes her head, and Lance pauses.

“No?”

“Daddy likes them,” she says bluntly, and then crooks a finger his way after searching around them briefly. Lance bends, and she moves to whisper in his ear.

“I don’t really like them. Poppa and me like the green ones better. Only daddy likes purple.”

Lance struggles for a moment to interpret the words, but it makes sense a moment later when a man runs into the shop, looking altogether too relieved as he approaches.

“ _There_  you are!” He huffs, and the little girl grins as she runs over to him. He picks her up and boops her nose affectionately, and Lance concludes that this must be the father that likes grapes.

The purple ones anyway.

“Don’t just run off like that!” he reprimands softly. “There are creepy people in the mall-”

“He was helping!” the girl interrupts, and the man glances over at Lance when she points his way.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t really referring to-” he narrows his eyes, looking at a place on Lance’s apron. “‘Candle Jenner’….?”

Lance snorts as his face heats, and he waves off the name to explain.

“We all chose puns,” he begins, realizing he’s the only one working and trailing off. “I’m Lance.”

He holds out a hand, which the man takes after adjusting his hold on the child.

“Keith. And this is-”

“I’m Sadie!” she bursts, and Lance shakes her hand as well.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She grins widely, and Keith’s expression is apologetic.

“I hope this little troublemaker didn’t bother you. We were in line to buy pretzels and she just took off.” He turns back to Sadie and frowns. “Promise never to do that to me again.”

“I wanted to buy a present for-”

“Sadie.” Keith cuts her off with a stern look, and she huffs, relenting.

“Promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Keith holds out the finger, which Sadie takes with a giggle.

“Pinky promise!”

“Good. Otherwise I’ll have to tell daddy.”

“Noooo!” Sadie whines, and Lance corrects his earlier conclusions.

_This must be 'poppa’ then. So green grapes, not purple._

He moves back to the shelf and picks out a specific candle, smiling to himself as he pictures the loving home this little girl must be growing up in to have two dads who care so much about her. It gives him hope for the future.

“This one isn’t purple,” he states when he moves back over to the pair. “But it smells like grapes and melons.”

Keith frowns as Sadie bounces in his arms, raising a brow at Lance.

“She came in with a request,” he explains, and Keith nods in understanding.

“For daddy?” he asks her, and she claps.

“Yep! But not that one,” Sadie decides after a whiff, and points out at something behind Keith. He turns to follow the movement, and Lance squeezes past them to grab whichever candle had been suggested.

“This one?” he asks, moving onto the next when Sadie shakes her head. “How about this?”

Again, she shakes her head, and Keith moves closer to the shelves so she can better look.

“What was the request?” he whispers to Lance as she searches.

“Purple.”

Keith smiles and nods before lifting his gaze, and when he does Lance falters for a second, caught up in eyes of almost the same colour Sadie had been wanting.

 _Oh woah_ …he thinks, and then ducks his head when Keith shoots him a puzzled look.  _Crap! My face must have given me away!_

“That one!” Sadie announces suddenly, and Lance thanks her for the perfectly timed distraction as he shimmies behind Keith over to where Sadie is pointing a tiny finger at a candle on the top shelf.

“That one.” She repeats, and Lance reads the name out loud.

“'Black Cherry Merlot’?”

Sadie turns in Keith’s arms, facing him as she pets his hair.

“What’s that?” she whispers, and Keith whispers right back, winking at Lance as he does, who interprets the gesture as a 'kids, eh?’ type thing. At least, that’s what he reminds himself as his cheeks warm and he turns away.

_The guy is married with a kid. Get a hold of yourself!_

“Merlot is a type of wine,” Keith explains, and Lance busies himself with retrieving the candle lest his face tattle on his thoughts. “And wine is a fancy drink made of grapes-”

“Oh!” Sadie gasps, smacking Keith’s face as she turns back to Lance. “Grapes!”

“This must be fate then,” Lance laughs, standing on his tip toes to reach the candle. “It’s the last one.” He grabs it and smiles, taking off the lid and inhaling the scent. “Oh yeah. That’s purple alright.”

He’s in the process of handing it over when Sadie reaches out abruptly, and the candle slips from his grip.

It falls, and Lance watches in slow motion as it tumbles towards the floor - the last of its kind - and he mentally prepares an apology to the little girl, heart preparing to break alongside the candle.

But the shatter never happens. The glass doesn’t crack. The candle remains intact.

Because it never hits the floor, and Lance gasps as he realizes Keith had ducked to catch it just in time: Sadie clinging to his neck and laughing at the motion of being tipped so suddenly.

He straightens and smiles sweetly as he holds out the prize in triumph.

“That was a close one,” he observes nonchalantly, and Lance exhales in relief.

“Nice reflexes,” he hears himself comment, and then flushes as Keith shoots another wink his way.

_Dude! Stop! I’m weak to that sort of thing and you’re literally holding your kid!_

“It comes with practice,” Keith answers smoothly, bringing the candle to Sadie’s nose. “This little troublemaker tends to keep me on my toes.”

“Mmmmmm!” Sadie squeals excitedly, sniffing the candle again. “Perfect!”

“You like it?” Lance asks, and she nods eagerly.

“I love it!”

“Let me smell,” Keith waits for Sadie to agree before lifting the candle up. He catches Lance’s gaze and holds it as he inhales - the purple of the glass reflected in those dark eyes - and sighs contentedly.

“You’re right,” he says, maintaining eye contact. “This one is perfect.”

Lance shivers despite the heat rising beneath his skin, and hastily turns away to keep his blush from giving him away.

_Holy crap…_

“Do you think daddy will like it?” Sadie asks, and before Keith can answer his phone rings. Lance glances back at them and holds out a hand to take the candle from Keith to help, but Keith must misunderstand, as Sadie is handed over instead.

“Oh!” Lance starts, but trails off when Keith shoots him an award winning grin.

“Thanks,” he mouths as he answers his phone. “Hey Shiro.”

Sadie watches as Keith turns away to talk, and then reaches out to pet Lance’s cheek.

“Do you think daddy will like it?” she repeats, and Lance adjusts her weight in his arms as he shrugs.

“Well, do you like it?”

She nods, and he smiles.

“Then yes. I think he will too.”

She beams and rests her head on his shoulder. Lance feels his insides coo at her adorableness, and rocks her back and forth in his arms as he watches Keith’s back. He doesn’t mean to, but without Sadie talking in his ear, it’s easy to overhear the phone conversation.

“-with her now. She was adamant about getting you a present.” He lifts the candle in his hand and twirls it around, and Lance wonders if the person on the other end had asked what said present was. “Your only hint is 'purple’,” Keith answers, and Lance bites back a smile as the man looks back and shoots them a wink.

Another wink.

_I’m dying here._

But Keith’s teasing expression softens when his eyes land on Sadie, and he lowers his voice as he speaks into his cell.

“She just fell asleep in the arms of the guy helping us,” he states in hushed tones, and Lance blinks himself to awareness only to realize Keith is right. Sadie is passed out against him, and Lance stills his rocking motion as he smiles fondly down at her tiny pigtails.

_Oh man, how freakin cute!_

When he glances back over at Keith the man is red in the face, and he hastily turns away as their eyes meet.

“I’m not answering that! Quit being a weirdo!” Lance hears murmured into the phone, and wilts a bit. He has no reason for it, but a creeping disappointment begins to wind its way across his chest, and Lance sighs as he fights back the envy.

_Stop. You’re being unreasonable. He’s married. He’s taken. You have no right to feel this way._

Still, the pep talk does little to help.

“-meet you and Adam at the cafeteria in ten minutes,” Keith’s voice grows louder as he walks back over. “Alright, see ya.”

He hangs up - sliding his phone back into his pocket - and gestures down at Sadie.

“I think she likes you.”

Lance shrugs as best he can, gently handing her back over in exchange for the candle. She stirs at the motion, and grumbles sleepily into Keith’s neck.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Keith answers, following Lance to the till. “Your dads are here now, and they’ll take you back home for a nap, okay?”

Lance pauses at that, hand hovering over the scanner as he frowns and works through what he just heard.

_'Your dads?’ Does that mean-_

“Daddy and poppa?” Sadie murmurs sleepily in response, and Keith nods.

“Yeah, they’re waiting for their little princess. Don’t tell them your uncle spoiled you, okay? Otherwise I’ll get in trouble. You promise?”

Sadie giggles and closes her eyes, drifting back to sleep with a whispered 'pinky promise’, and Keith’s attention returns to Lance.

And then he frowns, seeing the absolute confusion written on Lance’s face.

“…something wrong?”

Lance jolts, brows pinching as he holds Keith’s eyes. Purple, like the candle he scans through.

“I-uh, I thought she- and you, um…” he scrambles, ears turning pink as he lowers his gaze to the counter. It doesn’t take much for Keith to connect the dots after that.

“You thought Sadie was  _mine?!”_

Lance flushes but nods, and Keith begins to laugh.

“Ooohhh  _man_ _!_  No wonder you kept looking away! You probably thought I was some mega jerk flirting with you in front of his kid!”

Lance opens his mouth to answer, but when he stares back over at Keith he finds the words lacking, and settles for a sheepish nod.

Keith grins, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No,” he chuckles, chin tilting down at the girl in his arms. “This little nuisance belongs to my brother. It was his birthday the other day, so I offered to watch her while he and his husband spent the afternoon relaxing.”

“Oh…” Lance answers lamely, embarrassed now for having assumed so much. “Sorry.”

But Keith doesn’t appear upset. In fact, when he smiles it’s almost knowing, almost fond and…almost sly. It’s a smile Lance finds himself leaning toward, the counter preventing him from getting very far.

His blush darkens, and he distracts himself with packaging the candle.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Keith goes on, paying when the total comes up. “Both for Sadie and for the flirting. I should have clarified from the get-go.”

“So, you  _were_  flirting?” Lance speaks before processing – mind flashing back all the winks and smiles he’d been sent - and bites his tongue as Keith grows bashful.

“I’m not very good at it,” he confesses shyly, and Lance rushes to deny.

“No!” he bursts, and then covers his mouth with a quick glance at Sadie. “I mean, I thought…um…you were fine-” he breaks off with a huff, hiding his face in his hands as steam rises off his cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a good sign then,” Keith answers easily, grabbing the bag. “Thanks for your help.”

He turns to leave, and Lance acts on impulse, the words coming to his lips as a force of habit.

“Do you want to sign up for our email list?”

Keith pauses, lifting a brow.

“What do I get if I do that?”

And Lance is a mumbling mess all over again, trapped by those merlot eyes.

“Um…like discounts and sale notifications and… uh-yeah.”

_Smooth. Wow. Amazing._

Keith chuckles, and sets down the bag as he reaches for the phone in his pocket.

“Can I leave my number instead?”

“That’s not really store protocol- oh-” Lance cuts off, face almost as dark as the cherry Sadie’s candle is named after, and Keith winks.

_Again! Again, with the wink!_

Only this time Lance knows it’s intent, and his insides squirm and fizzle as he let's his thoughts carry him off.

“Then…yes. Here.” He takes the offered phone and types in the store number as well as his own, fingers shaky as he feels Keith watching him.

When he hands it over it slips from his grasp, but Keith easily catches it.

“Nice reflexes,” Lance comments quietly, and Keith grins proudly.

“I’ll see ya later then, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Lance answers, and Keith steps away from the counter: bag in one hand and niece in the other.

“Thanks again! I’ll be sure to leave a good review for 'Candle Jenner’ and his help finding this splendid gift.”

Lance snorts and ducks his head, waving as Keith and Sadie leave. A little while later he gets a text from an unknown number, and it’s a photo of Sadie with two men Lance doesn’t recognize, but the message accompanying it let's him know they’re her  _actual_  dads, and that they all agreed the candle was the perfect purple.

Lance smiles to himself as he reads it, and then another text comes through.

**_Do you think you can help me find a candle of my own?_ **

Lance is quick to respond, biting his lower lip in the process.

**What type of candle?**

And the answer he gets is very similar to the one Sadie had given that morning, making Lance wonder just how many more traits the two shared. He suppresses the part of his mind that imagines Keith in matching pigtails.

**_I’m thinking blue._ **

**Like the berry?**

And the text he gets back has him coughing as his face heats, earning him the concerned glances of the few customers wandering about.

**_Like your eyes ;)_ **

_Oh my god,_  Lance thinks as he ducks his head, not having to try very hard to visualize that wink. He recalls Keith had called Sadie the troublemaker, but wonders if that was an inherited trait or a learned one. Either way, Lance grins as he answers, wondering what sort of candle Keith would consider as the perfect blue, blushing as he imagines the guy waltzing in just for him.

 _Oh Sadie, I owe you thanks,_ he thinks, and presses send.

**I’ll see what I can do :)**


	19. Keith Snores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Lance likes it?

Keith is probably the most obnoxiously loud snorer. He likely got punched in the nose a few times growing up as well so his breathing late at night can get a little boisterous.

Needless to say this comes as a surprise to Lance.

Their first night together results in Lance staring wide eyed at his soft, tiny boyfriend, convinced he must be possessed by some demon because there’s just no way sounds that ridiculous are coming from this small precious being.

He doesn’t sleep much.

The second night he’s exhausted, and passes out before Keith.

He’s woken again later on by deep rumbling, and maybe it’s not a demon so much as a jet engine that resides within his love. But before he can so much as shake Keith awake, the boy is lurching forward, hand diving beneath the pillows for the knife he insisted he keep there.

And Lance can hardly breathe because this brave man, this paladin of Voltron and member of the Blades, selfless fighter and fearless pilot, just scared himself awake with the sound of his own snoring.

Keith is out again before much can be said, but it’s fine. The snoring eases off.

Lance sleeps with the smile still plastered on his face.

The third night Lance realizes that he may have a problem. He wants to sleep with Keith; can’t imagine going back to his own bed where he would be alone and cold. But the snoring is too much. He can’t catch a wink. And with three days of exhaustion piling up, his patience is wearing thin.

He shakes Keith awake, and it takes some effort for the boy to finally listen. When he does it’s with attitude, snapping at Lance when his snoring is brought up.

Or maybe it’s just the way Lance worded it.

“You’re breathing too loud,” is apparently not the way to go about things.

Keith frowns, which would be cuter if Lance had the energy to spare.

“I can’t help it,” he grumbles. “Should I just stop breathing?”

“If it means I get some sleep then yeah, maybe.”

Again, not the best thing to say.

A flash of hurt crosses Keith’s face, but before Lance can apologize he’s getting up, pausing at the door for just a moment.

“Sorry,” is all he says before leaving.

Lance sleeps, but his dreams are filled with nightmares and a cold chill he can’t shake.

The fourth night is spent in their own rooms, apart after a tense day of mutual cold shoulders. Lance stares up at the ceiling, surrounded by a peaceful silence he hasn’t heard in nearly a week.

He should be able to sleep easily; simply drift off without problem. But he can’t. Doesn’t. And it’s nearing midnight when he learns why.

It’s too quite.

He jumps out of bed, nearly collides with the door when it doesn’t open fast enough, and is halfway down the hall when he actually  _does_  run into something.

Or rather,  _someone_.

“Keith!”

“Lance-”

They stare at one another, eyes taking in the sight of tired faces, messy hair, and pajama clad bodies. Their feet are both bare.

“I’m sorry-”

They break off, having both spoken at the same time. Lance smiles, pulling Keith up with him as he stands.

And without allowing room for more words to be uttered, Lance pulls Keith in for a tight embrace. One where arms circle shoulders; cheeks press to necks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he hears Keith mumble against his skin, breath warm and sweet.

“Me either.”

“Yeah right,” Keith scoffs, and Lance pulls away just in time to see the award winning eye roll. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not,” Lance insists, the sincerity in his voice bringing a confused frown to Keith’s face. “It was surprisingly too quite. I missed your snoring.”

“You missed my snoring?” Keith repeats skeptically, but he can’t hide the growing smirk. “Can I get that in writing?”

“How bout I just prove it to you instead,” Lance whispers back, catching Keith’s hand and tugging him back towards his room. They giggle as they snuggle beneath the blankets, toes chilled from the floor.

Keith rests his head on Lance’s chest with a sigh, lacing their fingers together as he nuzzles in close.

“You know,” he murmurs softly, “my roommate back at the Garrison also said I snored. But he had these strips he gave me that went over the nose and kept me breathing properly at night. Maybe I could ask Pidge to make something similar?”

Lance considers for a moment, stroking Keith’s hair with his free hand as he settles deeper in the mattress.

“Hunk snores as well,” he admits. “Not as loudly as you though. I think the Lions are quieter-” he receives a smack that breaks his pondering off with a chuckle. “What I’m saying is I could wear headphones at night, like I used to whenever Hunk slept over. At least until Pidge makes you some anti-snore strips.”

“I thought you said you liked the sound of my snoring,” Keith quips, and Lance messes his fringe with slender fingers.

“ _Missed_ , not  _liked_ ,” he corrects. “But I think I just missed you actually. I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Me either.”

“Then let’s not. Okay?”

Keith nods, and the promise is made.

They sleep after that, deep and content, and wake late the next morning.

The fifth night passes smoothly, with headphones in and snoring muffled. Lance can still feel the vibrations of Keith’s sounds deep in his chest, but he finds them relaxing, comforting.

The sixth night begins with teasing, as the nose strip Pidge fashioned is similar to a thin bandaid that stretches across Keith’s face. But it works, or so Lance assumes, as he rests the entire night without waking up once.

The seventh night is odd.

As is the eighth.

It’s on the ninth night that Lance finds himself staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

Keith is out, chest rising and falling with a steady pace, and Lance knows which sounds would be echoing around the room should the strip not be there.

It’s quiet. Peaceful.

And he hates it.

Turns out, for whichever bizarre reason, he  _actually_  misses the snoring. He won’t admit it out loud; can hardly accept it internally. But it’s the truth.

He doesn’t sleep much after that.

On the tenth night the nose strips mysteriously disappear. Keith doesn’t know where they went, is sure he placed them by the sink like always. Pidge is already in bed. Lance’s headphones are nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry,” Keith pouts, moving towards the door, “I’ll sleep in my room tonight so you can rest.”

But Lance stops him; pulls him back to bed.

“No more sleeping alone, remember?”

“But my snoring-”

“I’ll survive,” Lance waves him off, and it doesn’t take much more convincing after that.

He sleeps in parts, woken up every now and again by abrupt guttural groans, shocked as ever that Keith can produce such sounds.

But he doesn’t mind. Not anymore.

When he drifts off again it’s with a smile on his face, a flush in his cheeks, and a quick kiss to the forehead of his love.

He sleeps pleasantly, fitfully.

Content with his new lullaby.


	20. Bachelorette au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this](http://rachelhuey88.tumblr.com/post/183201945025/klance-bachelor-au) by @rachelhuey88

Or else Keith and Lance are both contestants on the show trying to win. Lance is legit about it and there for love and Keith actually knows the bachelorette and said he would join as a fake contestant to scope out which guys are being genuine or not.

So the two meet and Lance is right away jealous of Keith because the bachelorette is so huggy and giggly and whispery with him. Lance thinks they’re hitting it off but really it’s only gossip exchanged about who they think is cuter.

Queue the rivalry.

Anyway, the season progresses and Keith tells the bachelorette who to keep and who to boot and eventually she asks about Lance.

And Keith, having been bickering back and forth with the guy the entire season, is hesitant to vouche for him. The bachelorette on the other hand, wants Keith to find out more as she sees some part of Lance that he keeps hidden from others.

So Keith makes it his mission to get to know Lance better. They hang out more one on one. The bickering becomes more playful. They seek each other out with news about the other contestants or to share stories or jokes or just the same space. And eventually Keith forgets he’s doing this as a favour.

He… _likes_  Lance. As a person, as a contestant, just…in general.

He likes his laugh. And his eyes. He likes how he talks about his family and the beach he grew up on.

He likes how Lance finds beauty in the smallest things. How he doesn’t talk bad about others behind their backs.

He likes how Lance loves, and how he romanticizes falling into it.

He’s good. Truly and purely.  _Good_.

And Keith begins to realize that what he thought was just friendship is actually something more.

He…well….

He likes him. A lot.

Only…he can’t tell the bachelorette because  _she_  likes Lance and he’s doing this for  _her_. And he can’t tell Lance because it’s so obvious how he feels about the bachelorette - Keith’s friend. He talks about her constantly. Wonders what a potential life with her would be like. Gushes to Keith about how amazing she is and how he’s always so nervous he won’t get a rose.

And one night the two of them are together and Keith lets it slip that she’s been hurt before, and Lance questions him about how he could possibly know and _“did she tell you that?!”_  but Keith keeps his mouth shut and tries to change the subject.

So he asks Lance about his past relationships. Finds out the guy has dated other men. And  _fuck_. That leaves Keith with like.. _.no_  excuse not to like him. It’s made worse when Lance flips the question back on him, and Keith hesitates before admitting his relationships never end well: that he’s sort of afraid of love and doesn’t really believe in soulmates.

Lance comforts him and says that he thinks Keith will find someone. And if not, someone will find Keith. They’ll show up at his door with roses and profess their undying love with a promise of their shared happily ever after.

Keith laughs, saying he doesn’t care much for roses, and Lance amends his statement.

_“Tulips then.”_

Which is dangerous, because Keith is laughing now - comfortable around Lance, guard down - and jokingly says _“if only there were a guy like that”._

Lance questions his choice of pronoun, and Keith freaks. Leaves in a hurry, all blushy faced and panicked. Because  _shit. Wasn’t supposed to let people know._  And of course it was all filmed, so it airs and the public finds out and there are mixed feelings on all sides of the media.

The next day they’re all informed a contestant has left early, and Lance isn’t sure why he’s so disappointed to find out Keith is no longer in the competition. He just assumed Keith was bi like himself, and he has no idea what the world outside the Bachelorette house is saying. So why is he so disheartened? This makes his job easier, right?

The show goes on, and Lance ends up making it to the end. But on one of the last dates Keith becomes a topic he and the bachelorette discuss. Lance asks if she knows what happened, and she tells him Keith dropped out. She says he told her things were getting too complicated, that his feelings were getting in the way of why he was really there. 

She’s vague on the subject, but Lance presses with more questions. He finds out she and Keith are childhood friends. That he was only ever there as a favour to help her find her one and only.

And….woah. That’s new. That actually makes a lot of sense, given that Keith was never overly ambitious to steal time with her outside of their dates, much less participate in PDA. But feelings? What feelings? Who had Keith been crushing on if not the bachelorette herself? 

But then he gets it. 

The time spent together. The shared secrets. The whispered jokes. The stolen moments when cameras weren’t rolling where they would sneak out on the roof and count the stars.

The way Keith had smiled at him: eyes bright and cheeks pink.

_He only ever looked at me like that._

And it’s then that Lance begins to realize that maybe what he had been calling jealousy was something else. Maybe when he had been with Keith it hadn’t been to dig up dirt on him, or figure out his tricks. Maybe he’d genuinely enjoyed their time together, their conversations, sharing their hopes and dreams and fears. He  _misses_  that smile. He  _aches_  for those eyes.

And shit. He  _liked_ Keith.  _Still_  likes him.

The bachelorette clues into Lance’s silence and connects the dots easily enough. She understands now, why Keith had left. And she can tell by the flush of Lance’s cheeks that it’s a mutual thing. Her heart breaks a bit but she pushes it aside. Keith fell first, it would seem, and she won’t complicate the matter.

She takes the rose that had been meant for Lance and hands it over with a whispered  _“go get him.”_

And Lance doesn’t need to be told twice. He apologizes, thanks her, and runs off until the camera can no longer follow him. He’s gone, and the audience is going wild. 

Back home Keith is trying to ignore the people with cameras hovering outside his door - phone off and TV disconnected to avoid any temptation of watching the finale, knowing Lance is the top choice, dreading the invite to the wedding he’ll have to attend - when he hears his doorbell ring.

 _More paparazzi wanting details_ , he thinks, but his patience wears thin when it’s rung over and over and over.

So he throws open the door with a curse ready on his lips, but what comes out instead is a name.

_“Lance?”_

Because he’s  _there!_  Right there, in front of him, dressed in a suit and tie with red cheeks and a wide grin Keith’s been trying to forget these past few weeks.

_“What are you-”_

_“Keith,”_  Lance cuts him off, taking another step closer.  _“I thought I hated you.”_

_“Um-”_

_“And then I thought we were friends.”_

_“We can-”_

_“But when you left there was a pain in my chest I ignored.“_ Lance pushes on, determined. _"I called it relief. Pretended it wasn’t there. And I only recently came to understand that it was heartbreak. I missed you. I wanted to see you. I want to_ be _with you. So Keith,”_ and he gets down on one knee, smile soft and fond as Keith gasps in shock,  _“will you accept this rose?”_

He pulls one out from behind his back – the same rose the bachelorette had given him – and holds it out for Keith to take.

 _“Lance I-”_  Keith begins, choked up and confused but more than anything  _thrilled_. Because there’s no way. This isn’t real. Lance wouldn’t give up his chance with the bachelorette for  _him, w_ ould he? And yet…here he is: hair tousled and grin crooked, offering a flower that carries so much symbolism in the show where they’d met.

He finds himself grinning.

_“I don’t care much for roses.”_

And Lance smirks, tossing it aside with a snort and withdrawing a single blue flower from the pocket of his coat.

 _“Tulips then,”_  he says, and stands as Keith hides his reddening face with his hands. Lance laughs, taking Keith’s fingers away to hold in his own. He leans in close, resting their foreheads together and whispering with affectionate amusement _: "I told you someone would come looking for you, didn’t I?”_

Keith laughs, overwhelmed in the best possible way.

 _“You also said they would profess their undying love, if I recall correctly,”_ he teases, beyond ecstatic as he takes the tulip from Lance and stares shamelessly up into those lovely blue eyes.

Lance laughs, eyes closing as he hums away the humour.

_“Shall we start with a date first?”_

Keith nods.

_“I can agree to that.”_

And the whole thing is caught on camera by a passing fan. It’s uploaded online and goes viral within the day. People want interviews. Articles are written. The bachelorette – who quit after Lance left to find love on her own – is badgered with questions about how much she knew.

It’s chaos, really. But Lance and Keith manage. In fact they thrive, and ignore the publicity for the most part. Weeks become months become a year and still they’re together and happy. They laugh when they’re asked to make an appearance on a talk show asking about their success as one of the few couples from the Bachelorette to last as long as they have.

They decline, but still. It’s ironic.

On their third year together Lance proposes, professing his undying love for Keith with a promise of their shared happily ever after.

And they’re surrounded by tulips, because neither care much for roses.


	21. Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt where Lance asks Keith out after watching him cram several fries into his mouth at once.

The thing about Shiro being a high school teacher is the absurd amount of teenage lingo he comes home with. And since Keith knows next to nothing about internet culture and memes or the array of jargon the youth invent on a daily basis, it’s an interesting learning experience for them both.

Shiro will barge through the front door and throw his keys at Keith with a startling  _“YEET!”,_ to which Keith will hurl a pillow back when his brother dabs.

He’ll point to the most random of things and mutter “squad goals”, leaving Keith to wonder why anyone would aspire to be like a group of gulls fighting over an empty bag of chips. Then again, he’s seen Matt and Adam go at it with Doritos before, so maybe that one is relevant.

Keith hears gossip, or  _tea,_  about who is the most “lit” at the school - where Shiro will point to himself with a smug grin - and who the “haterz” and “noobs” are among faculty. And when Keith rolls his eyes and asks if Shiro perhaps falls into one of  _those_  categories instead, his brother will accuse him of “throwing shade” and to be more “Gucci”.

It can be infuriating, but it’s also hilarious, and Adam makes sure to let his boyfriend know when he’s going too far, stating that no amount of  _bae_ talk would make up for him hitting the woah in the middle of the supermarket.

So Keith doesn’t really mind when Shiro sprinkles the words his students teach him into regular conversations, and when he’s dubbed “hangry” the afternoon they’re hanging out, he doesn’t deny it, stopping in at the local McDonald’s for a quick bite.

The restaurant is busy, but not full, and they take their order to the back where another small group is chatting about exams coming up at the local university. Keith avoids eavesdropping for his own sake, not wanting to think about studying just yet.

They sit, and Shiro leans across the table.

“Wanna play a game?”

Keith snorts, poking his straw into his drink.

“Jesus, could you make that sound any creepier?”

“I could, yeah,” Shiro answers, but then shrugs. “But we’re sitting by the play-place so maybe not.”

“Good call.”

“But we should try!” he goes on, taking out his own food. “Miranda and Hailey told me about it in physics, and it’s quite entertaining.”

Keith rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his burger.

“What are the rules?”

“Okay,” Shiro grins - ecstatic. “It’s called ‘odds’ and basically it’s like daring someone to do something by trying to guess the same number.”

Keith blinks over at his brother, one brow raising skeptically.

“Right. Bad explanation,” Shiro grunts, and then grabs the salt shaker, dumping a small pile into his hand. “Say I wanted to make you eat a mouthful of salt-”

“Why would you want that?” Keith interrupts, and Shiro grins.

“Cause it would be hilarious. Now listen. Say I wanted you to eat salt, I would say ‘what are the odds you eat a spoonful of salt’, and you would give me a number range, or the  _odds_ , that you would.”

“Like a one in two type thing?”

“If you’re feeling really brave, then yes,” Shiro snorts. “But it depends on the challenge. If I asked the odds of you getting a tattoo of my face on your arm, then you might say one in twenty to make it harder, and on the count of three we would each pick a number between one and twenty, and if it’s the same number then you have to do it.”

“One in  _twenty?!_  For your ugly mug on my artfully crafted bicep? As if,” Keith grumbles, watching Shiro almost choke as he laughs.

“Rude! My face would look lovely on your arm.”

“I’d rather get Adam’s face.”

“Okay, legit tho,” Shiro nods in what Keith assumes to be agreement. It’s hard to tell going off his choice of words. “But you get the point.”

“And what happens if we don’t pick the same number?”

“Nothing.”

Keith hums, and then smirks.

“Alright then, what are the odds you eat that palmful of salt?”

Shiro’s eyes widen, staring down at the small heap of white he holds.

“Uh….like one in thirty, maybe?”

“Pfft, you scared?” Keith challenges, and his brother frowns.

“Fine. One in ten.”

“You’re gonna regret that,” Keith simpers, and Shiro shoots him a wink.

“We’ll see. Ready? Three, two, one-”

“Seven,” Keith states, whilst Shiro announces “four” at the same time. He beams, and Keith sighs.

“Lame.”

“Ha,” his brother answers, dumping the salt onto his fries. “My turn. What are the odds you stand up on your chair and announce that Burger King is better?”

“ _What?!_ ” Keith gasps, glancing around them in case anyone heard. He’s always had an irrational fear of the clown McDonald’s is famous for, and doesn’t want to risk upsetting him by declaring something so sacrilegious. His eyes scan the restaurant, but aside from a brief glance one of the guys from the booth up from theirs gives him, no one else appears to have heard. Keith still ducks his head though, turning back to Shiro with flushed cheeks.

“I’m not doing that,” he decides, and his brother pouts.

“And you called  _me_  lame?”

“I’ve watched IT, Shiro. I know how clowns work. Not worth the risk.”

“Fine,” Shiro bites his lower lip, shifting in his seat to find inspiration for a different dare. His smile is wicked when he looks back Keith’s way. “What are the odds you go ask that guy out?”

He points behind him, towards the place where the two university boys are sitting. Keith’s flush darkens, making unwanted eye contact with the same guy from before.

_Is he staring at me?! Oh god...did he hear us?!_

He swallows thickly, lowering his voice as he looks away.

“Are you  _kidding?!_  No way in hell I’m doing that!”

“Why not! He’s hot!”

“You’re just saying that cuz he looks a bit like Adam, you hypocrite.”

Shiro raises a brow, taking a sip from his drink.

“Didn’t you just say you would prefer to have Adam’s face on your arm than mine?”

Keith coughs, hands covering his cheeks as they begin to warm uncomfortably.

“That’s completely out of context. Unrelated. I’m not asking anyone out, especially in a  _McDonald’s.”_

Shiro shrugs, picking at his food.

“Suit yourself. I mean, I asked Adam out in Subway so-”

“And he refuses to tell anyone that story,” Keith shoots back, to which Shiro chuckles.

“I was thinking I’d propose at Wendy’s.”

“Don’t you dare,” Keith is laughing now as well, picturing the look of horror that would inevitably cross Adam’s face if Shiro ever pulled a stunt like that. “He doesn’t even  _like_  Wendy’s.”

“But he likes _me_ ,” Shiro smiles coyly, brows wagging confidently. “And it would be sort of poetic, don’t you think?”

“More like embarrassing. Only absolute madmen ask people out in fast food joints.”

“You mean  _brave_  men,” Shiro corrects proudly. “The real romantics take the risk.”

“Whatever you say,” Keith sighs contentedly. “But just know the odds are against him accepting a ring dropped into a fountain drink, no matter how charming you make it.”

Shiro scoffs and leans back in his seat, fingers drumming against the table.

“Speaking of odds, you keep chickening out.”

“You keep making the challenges ridiculous,” Keith fires back, regretting agreeing to play.

“That’s the whole point of the game!”

“What, public humiliation?”

“Hundo P,” Shiro answers, and before Keith can ask for clarification he brightens and points to their food. “Okay, how about this. What are the odds you eat all of your fries at once?”

“Like, take the whole pack and shove it in my mouth?” Keith balks, staring down at the overflowing sleeve. “Or one by one as fast as I can?”

Shiro hums in thought, then alters his challenge.

“How about you eat them all in under ten seconds?”

“Deal.”

“No,” Shiro snorts. “You have to give a number range.”

“Oh, right. Um, one in three I guess.”

“Really?”

Keith shrugs.

_It’s way better than asking someone out._

“Alright then,” Shiro beams, leaning forward and counting them down. “Three, two, one-”

They both shout two, and Shiro begins timing him as Keith shoves the entirety of the medium fries he’d ordered into his mouth. It’s not as easy as he’d thought, and he almost chokes on the overwhelming salinity that has his tongue cringing and his eyes watery.

But he manages not to puke - chewing frantically as Shiro’s fingers count him down, though he’s not even close to making it. Ten seconds go by and Keith is left with nearly all of the fries filling his cheeks and poking out of his mouth, sighing in defeat when Shiro declares his time is up.

“You look so stupid,” his brother teases, pulling out his phone to snap a picture, but what he ends up capturing is the exact moment someone waltzes over and sits directly beside Keith, and the resulting panicked expression partially shrouded by a mouthful of potato.

Keith stares as the boy from earlier - the one who’d caught his eye twice and had been dared to ask out - places his elbow on the table, smiling widely as he props his head upon his fist and winks down at him.

“The reason I sat down here is because I saw you stuff like,  _fifty_ fries into your mouth,” he explains - voice thick with humour and blue eyes dazzling in the fluorescents, “and I’d really like to take you on a date.”

Keith chokes, turning away to attempt spitting out the fries as his face turns darker than the untouched ketchup sitting between them. Shiro is cackling, phone still pointed up to record it all as the boy waits for an answer.

 _What the fuck?!_ Keith thinks desperately, wiping his mouth as he continues to cough - half eaten fries now littering the serving tray unappealingly.  _The hell is happening?!_

“I’m Lance, by the way.” 

A hand is offered, which Keith eyes warily as he awkwardly licks the salt from his lips. He takes it after a moment - a fleeting touch of hands before he pulls away and hides his head in his jacket.  

Lance grins - cheeks dimpling and causing Keith’s heart to palpitate.

“Bad timing, I know, but my friend and I were just about to leave and you sort of caught my eye the moment you walked in,” he explains, which really only makes Keith more embarrassed, given how he’s not exactly dressed to impress. “And I wasn’t going to say anything but then I saw you do  _that_  and I just knew I  _had_  to know your name, at the very least.”

Keith mumbles something indiscernible - voice muffled by his arms hiding his face - and Shiro does the honour of clarifying.

“His name is Keith,” he informs Lance, who makes a small noise of approval. “And he would  _very much_ like to give you his number-”

 _“Shiro!”_  Keith exclaims hastily, reaching across the table to grab his brother’s arm. Lance laughs pleasantly, grabbing a napkin and writing something down.

“How ‘bout I leave mine instead,” he offers, sliding the napkin Keith’s way. Sure enough, several digits are scrawled in neat print, followed by Lance’s name and a smiley face.

Keith stares at it for a good few seconds before Shiro clears his throat, snapping him out of his disbelief.

“Oh…right. Um, th- thanks?”

_Oh god, this is so awkward!_

But Lance doesn’t seem to think so, instead nodding giddily and making to stand.

“Cool, well…that’s all I really wanted to say, Keith,” he grins, and Keith tries to ignore the way his chest flutters at hearing his name spoken by that voice. “I’d be honoured if you texted me to hang out, but no hard feelings if you don’t.  Enjoy the rest of your meal fry-boy!”

And with that he leaves, returning to his friend - who’s also staring in bafflement - before exiting the restaurant. Keith gapes after them, struggling to process what  _exactly_  had just occurred.

_I was just asked out. By a hot guy. In a McDonald’s. For eating fries like some kinda animal._

_What in the everliving fuck._

Shiro’s laugh tapers off to intermittent chuckles as he finally puts his phone away and reaches for one of his own fries, munching it self-righteously.

“As I said,” he speaks after a moment, catching Keith’s attention with a cocky grin. “Only the brave.”

Keith groans, head slamming back to the table as his brother hums victoriously.

“That was the worst moment of my life,” he admits, not wanting to know what his face had looked like crammed with fries and redder than Ronald’s nose. Insane, probably, but that hadn’t stopped Lance. In fact, he’d admitted that had been the  _catalyst_  to asking him out in the first place, so what the hell?!

 _What kind of person does that-_  but he trails off, a perfect example sitting directly across from him.

_Oh, how insufferable._

“So,” Shiro hums in question. “You gonna text him?”

“No way in hell,” Keith answers almost immediately, but some part of him has already memorized the number, and his fingers twitch over the phone in his pocket as he imagines how to even  _initiate_  a conversation after the encounter they’d just shared. So he sticks with denial, hoping Shiro will be fooled by his lack of hesitation. 

But his brother only huffs skeptically, head shaking when Keith peeks up at him through his arms.

“Keith,” he says, leaning forward and picking up another fry.

“Yeah?”

And Shiro grins, popping it in his mouth.

“What are the odds?”


	22. Mermay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siren Lance meets deaf Keith.

It starts as any regular day: someone strolling along the abandoned pier away from the more densely packed beaches ignoring the signs to stay out.

 _Easy_ , Lance thinks, humming to himself to warm his vocal cords.  _Too easy. No one ever listens to the warnings about this cove._

He watches his prey hop down from the wooden beams to the sand below, balancing on the rocks exposed by the low tides. He edges closer - swimming just beneath the surface of the water to keep from being seen. His scales reflect the sunlight flawlessly, and the blue sheen of his tail is nearly invisible in the waves.

He’s the perfect hunter. A deadly predator.

And his target isn’t even paying attention, instead taking out a notebook from their back pocket and flipping to an empty page. They pull out a pencil and begin writing.

Lance pauses in his approach to wonder what, seeing as his meal doesn’t hesitate in their work - not stopping to seek inspiration from the ocean beyond.

 _What are they doing?_  he finds himself questioning, but shakes the thought from his head.  _Who cares anyway. It won’t matter in a few moments._

Because Lance is close enough now.

He inhales sharply as his head pokes out of the water, feeling the sting of air burn his nose as his gills close and his eyes adjust to the overly saturated world above. It only takes a moment, and then he’s ready to hunt. Ready to strike.

Ready to perform.

Lance hoists himself up on a rock - revealing his presence to the snack waiting by the shore. They don’t look over, which Lance is mildly peeved by, but he reminds himself they will soon enough, once they hear him.

No one can resist his voice.

So he opens his mouth and begins to sing, tilting his head to the side as his tail curls around the rock and catches the light, a dazzling array of blues and greys and whites that are the envy of any coral around. He’s appealing without having to try - such is the nature of a siren - but Lance still puts on a show. He arches his back, runs a hand through his hair, keeps his brows lowered and seductive.

And he sings: sultry and alluring and beckoning. He sings in the language of his peoples, though the words change depending on who hears.

To one it may be about a lost love, found at last in the shallows by the pier.

To another, it may be bottle with a map to treasures unknown, tucked between the jagged rocks by the inlet.

Lance has sung about kisses. He’s sung about sex. He’s sung about friendships and rivals and family and strangers. He’s sung about food and money and glory and power. He’s sung about the moon and the stars and the sun and the freedoms that come with walking into the undertow.

And once he even sang about shells - the kind the crabs wear that coil at the tip. 

But no matter which words rhyme together as they exit his mouth, Lance sings about what his prey most desires - what they want in the very pits of their hearts. He lures them in with a melody ripe with promise, and when they’re close enough he reaches out to embrace them, singing pleasantly as their eyes gloss over and their smiles turn lethargic.

And as they sink into his song, Lance sinks into the water, and the rest is best left unsaid.

 _Easy_ , he thinks again with not one pinch of guilt. The humans put signs up when the disappearances became noticeable, but still, they come. Still, after all these years, they wander into the surf, chasing the song he sings.  _They never learn._

He’s almost bored, actually. It’s no longer fun, drawing them in. The ships were a challenge - what with so many on board with wishes to be woven into poetry - but Lance’s words no longer reach the hulls. The new-age metal eats his voice, where the wood of old would amplify it.

 _I miss the pirates_ , he admits as his vocal cords vibrate, working to find the right pitch. Sometimes it takes a while for the song to take form, and Lance lowers his torso onto the rock and props himself up on his elbows in a more comfortable position as he continues to sing, waiting to be noticed.

_Perhaps if I made more of a splash?_

His tail lifts daintily in the air, twirling magnificently before plummeting into the water with a jarring clap. Droplets fly up and slide enticingly down his spine, but still, his food keeps their head down.

Lance is frowning now - still singing but not with any sort of lull. He needs to be noticed for the song to work properly, and being ignored does the exact opposite.

_What in the depths are they doing?! How am I not taking their entire attention?!_

He abandons his post, slipping back into the water with barely a splash, and swims closer to the shoreline. It’s more dangerous for him to draw nearer, but sometimes it takes a bit of baiting. This is nothing out of the ordinary, just inconvenient, and he stops when he can clearly see the face of the one who’ll soon become his meal.

It’s a handsome face: sharp-featured with thick brows and dark hair. Their eyes -  _his_  eyes, Lance notices - are downcast, smile fond as he stares down at the notebook in his hands. Lance can’t see what he’s writing from beneath the waves, but it hardly matters. The words will go unfinished in the end.

He steadies himself against the sandy bottom of the beach before shooting upwards - head tossed back as his chest breaches the surface - and  _still,_  he goes unseen.

_You’ve gotta be joking me._

Lance waves his arms over his head, which is not the most appealing maneuver, but at this point, he just needs to be spotted. His song will take care of the rest. But the man doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even  _flinch,_ instead turning a page in his notebook with a nod.

_Seriously?!_

Lance swims closer, trying his song again. But it’s pointless without notice. He needs to capture their full focus in order for the words to be heard. And with the man ignoring him so blatantly, Lance has to resort to a rather  _undignified_  method of getting what he needs.

 _Thank the currents none of my sisters are around to see this,_  Lance grimaces as he clears his throat, arms lowering back into the water as he edges a few inches closer.

And with a lengthy inhale he opens his mouth and begins.

“Help! I’m drowning! Can’t swim-!” He thrashes around to make his lies more believable, screaming here and there as he’d seen his prey sometimes attempt. “Save me! I’m gonna  _die!”_

It’s a believable performance, in Lance’s opinion, but no eyes flash up to meet his own. No head moves to investigate the scene. The man stays in his spot, tapping his pencil against his chin as he thinks and pays absolutely no attention to Lance.

Which is just  _insulting_  at this point.

“Hey!” Lance yells, giving up his antics in frustration.  _Never_  has his prey been so rude. “Hey, you! Look at me!”

But still, nothing.

“Heeelllllloooo!!!! I’m attractive and lonely!!!!”

Nope

“I found buried treasure! There’s no  _way_  I can spend three thousand gold pieces by myself!!”

Nada.

“I have fresh clams, too many to eat alone!”

Nuh-uh.

“You want pretty shells? I have pretty shells!”

Nice try.

“Your mullet is hideous!”

Absolutely zero reaction. Lance groans, splashing the surface of the water in anger. This is personal now. Well...technically it already  _was_ , given the man was supposed to be his meal, but now it’s  _extra_ personal. Like, salvaging any sort of ego, personal. Lance is  _utterly_  disgraced, and he vows to make sure this man suffers the most  _painful_  of ends at his hands.

_How dare he pretend I’m not here. How dare he ignore my efforts! He should be thankful I've chosen him at all! He should be coming to me, not the other way around!_

_He should have noticed!_

So with a huff of annoyance Lance cups his hands beneath the water and angles them towards the stranger - flushing in embarrassment that he has to stoop so low. But it’s come to this, and with a quick breath he sends his hands upwards and outwards, thoroughly soaking the man with his childish splash.

 _Gah! Only guppies do this sort of thing!_  he chastises, but it’s a fleeting thought. Despite the lack of skill required to perform the trick, it works rather effectively, and those eyes  _finally_ lift to catch Lance’s gaze.

_Bingo._

He wastes no time with his song, opening his mouth and feeling the harmonies flood through his body and past his gills, vibrating the air and taking the shape of whatever the man most desires. Words begin to form, and Lance releases them eagerly, curious now to see what sort of promises will lure this stubborn human to his death.

But as Lance sings his confusion grows, hearing his own voice in his ears as the music flows outward. Only…he doesn’t sing about the things he’s used to. Not money, or love, or fame, or comfort, or the soft feel of a childhood blanket. Rather, the words he weaves are about words themselves.

He sings of music. He sings of stories. He sings of conversations and whispers and shouts and cheering. He sings of laughter, and the sound of wind in the trees.

But more than anything, he sings of singing, which has him trailing off to blink up at the man on the rocks staring down at him - soaked and in awe. Lance watches as he remains unmoving, not drawn in or enticed in any way. He thinks maybe he’d sang  _wrong_ , but that’s never happened before. No one is immune to his voice.

And then the man suddenly lifts his hand, smiling fondly as he presses his thumb to his chin and rolls the rest of his fingers over his face in a motion Lance doesn’t understand.

“Wh...what?” he stammers, singing ending abruptly, and then blinks his way back to clarity. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you enamoured with my song?”

The man’s brows lower, eyes focused on Lance’s mouth he speaks, which may be a good sign. Many a human have stared at his lips after hearing his words, longing for more than just his voice.

_Maybe he’s under my spell after all…_

So Lance sighs and swims the rest of the way forward, placing his hands on either side of the rock the man sits on before lifting himself up. They’re  _much_  closer now - only a few inches apart as Lance tilts his chin up - and the man’s eyes are back on his own as Lance narrows the gap between them to better hold their gaze.

They’re an interesting colour for human eyes, Lance notices. Strange indigo that’s reminiscent of the fish that swim in schools through the reefs further out. But they also shift in the light of the sun, like an octopus struggling to hide and not knowing which hue to use: purple or blue or both. He’s briefly caught up in them, and has to forcefully remind himself of his task as he moves the rest of the way forward with a smirk.

_I should have known it would be this. Almost all of them want this._

_Blessed are the few who just want shells._

But it's not shells this man is wanting, and ignoring the words evoked by attention, Lance presses into warm lips - somewhat chapped but tasting of mint - and hums the rest of his song. His eyes slide closed as he continues to lean forward, finding the kiss he’s trying to initiate slipping out of reach. It’s a brush of mouth and nothing more, and Lance grunts in annoyance as the man abruptly pulls away.

His eyes shoot open, glaring down at his prey and realizing he’s practically crawled on top of the guy - tail curled around his legs and hovering over him in an incredibly tempting position. Lance thinks the man should be desperately clawing at his skin at this point, pulling him closer, begging for more.

But what he’s met with instead is an awkward, shy grin, red cheeks, and a flurry of hand signals as the man backs out from underneath him. Lance raises a brow as he watches the show of arms and fingers flashing dramatically, and when they still he blinks once at the man.

“And uh...what was that?”

Another few hand motions, and Lance rolls his eyes.

“This is all very emotionally - and  _mentally_  - draining for me,” he admits, edging closer when the man attempts edging away. “Maybe it’s just my song, or the alignment of the moon with the sea, but for some reason, you aren’t completely entranced by me. Which is a blow to my pride, to be honest. I’ve  _never_  had this much issue with a human before. Am I doing something wrong? Do you not have any desires? My song was about singing, which is a new one. Do you just want to hear my voice? I can-”

A finger moves up to his lips, silencing him. Lance gapes down at it, then back to the man with a questioning pout.

_He's brave, for a human. Few dare shush a siren._

The stranger smiles innocently, brows pinching upward as he exhales and pulls his hand away. He shuffles so he’s no longer touching Lance and then lifts the same finger to his own ear, moving it in a small arc towards his mouth.

Lance tilts his head to the side.

“Um...what?”

The man grunts, repeating the motion again.

“You...like my song?”

A head shake, and the man taps his chin in thought. He brightens after a moment, arms reaching up to cover his ears.

“Oh, you  _don’t_  like my song?!” Lance balks, leaning back in offense. “Well fine! we'll just skip the show and get right down to business-”

A frantic wave of arms, and then they’re reaching out for Lance’s own ears - hands pressing firmly against the sides of his head and drowning out all sound.

“Woah, hey-!” Lance flinches, but the man’s eyes are kind - soothing - and Lance feels himself involuntarily relax. “What are you doing?”

But the man only smiles, mouth moving as he speaks.

“Wait,” Lance tries to pull away. “I can’t hear you-”

The hands lift from his ears - the man beaming now as he points at Lance and nods. He makes the same hand movement as before, one finger moving from his ear to his mouth and then both hands going back to cover the sides of his head. And then, slowly, they reach out to press against Lance’s again, cutting off all outside noise.

And it takes Lance a good moment to connect the dots, but when he does it all makes sense. He draws back as the man’s hands leave his ears, blinking owlishly in understanding.

“You...you can’t hear me…”

Another nod, followed by a bashful grin.

“Which means you  _can’t_   _hear_  my song.”

A ‘no’ this time, as the man shakes his head. Lance sinks slowly back into the water, only his torso exposed to the world above.

“Which means you aren’t entranced at all. You think nothing of me-”

A flurry of hand motions interrupt his self-pity, and Lance frowns up as the man edges closer to the water with an expression of denial. He points at Lance’s chest, then lifts his hand back to his head, thumb going to his chin as his fingers roll over his face. It’s the same gesture Lance first saw, and he’s just as confused by it now as then.

“What are you saying?” he whispers, but the man only smiles as his cheeks turn rosy, taking out his partially soaked notebook and quickly writing something down on a dry, blank page. He holds it up for Lance to read once he’s done, and Lance squints as he deciphers the messy scrawl.

“ _‘My name is Keith’_ ,” he reads out loud, and then blinks up at the man. “Keith?”

He nods, flush growing darker, and then points at Lance with raised brows.

“You wanna know my name?” Lance asks as he understands the unspoken question, tail twitching uneasily beneath the water. “Why?”

Keith takes his book back and writes something else, holding it out again once done.

“ _‘Why not?_ ’,” and Lance laughs, biting his lower lip as he decides if it’s worth it. For one, this was  _supposed_  to be his dinner. He’s not one to exchange names with his food. And also, what would Keith even  _do_  with his name? It’s not like he can speak it, or hear how it sounds on his tongue.

 _But that’s hardly fair,_  one part of him mumbles, shaming Lance’s other thoughts in the process. He sighs, re-evaluating the situation.

_At this point, I may as well just satisfy my curiosity. I mean, I was bored anyway, so why not?_

And it’s not like he can drown Keith without having him dazed by his song to begin with. So after a few moments of consideration, Lance sighs, lifting himself back up onto the rock to better face Keith.

Those whimsical eyes scan over him, lingering on his tail before shooting back up to his eyes, and Lance smirks.

“I’m Lance,” he declares, but Keith frowns, writing a single word down in his book.

“ _‘Vance’-_ ” Lance reads, and shakes his head with a laugh. “No! Not  _Vance_.  _L-_ ance.” He makes sure to enunciate - tongue touching his upper teeth and moving down as his mouth opens to form the sound. “Lance. Like the weapon you humans used to hunt us with. Lance.”

Keith rewrites his guess, and Lance beams when he sees his own name in print.

“Right! Yeah! Lance!”

Keith’s grin is dazzling - dimpled and bright - and Lance is momentarily awestruck.

 _Oh, the corals would be green with envy,_ he admits _. I’m almost jealous myself._

But it's a shallow confession. He's rarely jealous - knowing his own charms better than most - and as he stares up at Keith and his pearly white teeth, Lance just feels warm, and he doubts it has anything to do with the sun on his back.

_What an odd human. I've never met one so captivating. Maybe it's because he hasn't said a word._

“I've decided not to eat you,” he announces abruptly, to which Keith jerks back in shock. Lance waves off the concern evident on his face. “Don’t worry. It would have been a quick death, had my song worked. But you're special, so I've decided to let you live.

Keith hesitates for a moment, and then quickly scribbles something down for Lance to read.

 _“‘I wouldn't taste good anyway.’”_ Lance snorts, resting his head on his hand as he gazes up at this peculiar human. “And why not? You look  _very_  tasty.”

Keith flushes anew, biting his lower lip as he shows what he'd written in response.

 _“‘I drink kale smoothies daily.’_  Oh, gross,” Lance grimaces. “You’re right, I only eat humans on a strict gummy bear diet.”

Another message, which Lance reads to himself as it appears on the page.

**How do you know what gummy bears taste like?**

“I don't,” he shrugs truthfully. “But I've seen the packaging in the water, and it looks colourful and smells nice, so I'm assuming.”

Keith doesn't seem too impressed to hear this, writing:

**There's so much wrong with what you just said. First, pollution. Second, you've never had a gummy bear?!**

“And yet, both problems could be solved by humans,” Lance chuckles, tail extending behind him in the water as he lounges on the rock next to his former meal. It's odd, conversing with it, and Lance wonders if all humans made such good company, or if it was only the ones who couldn't talk.

 **I recycle,** Keith writes beside him, adding:  **and I pick up trash whenever I see it on the beach.**

Lance reaches up and pats the top of his head, webbed fingers sinking into damp, black fuzz.

“What a good boy you are. I'll let the whales know  _someone_  cares.”

Keith grins sweetly, his own hand moving to grab Lance's as it leaves his head. He holds it up in front of his face, analyzing each webbed digit with a tender hold.

Lance watches him intently, allowing the scrutiny and using Keith's distraction to investigate the rest of the man. He takes in broad shoulders, toned arms, long legs, and bare feet. His gaze lingers on Keith's toes, and without thinking much of it he reaches out to poke one.

Keith flinches, entire leg jerking in response to the touch.

“Woah, what was  _that?”_ Lance asks with a grin, and Keith drops his hand to make a strange motion with his own. They hover by his ribs - fingers wiggling as he beams.

“You have...gills?” Lance guesses, which is wrong apparently, since Keith rolls his eyes and writes it down.

“‘Ticklish’.” Lance reads, then frowns up at the boy. “What's ticklish?”

Keith blanks, expression startled as he gapes down at him.

“What? Should I know?”

A head shake, followed by a shrug suggesting otherwise.

“Then tell me!” Lance urges, crawling further up the rock and leaning into Keith's arm. “Tell me tell me tell me tell- _EEP!”_

He breaks off as Keith's fingers suddenly dig into his side, sending an unexpected chill down his spine and through his tail.

Lance hisses, teeth bared as he pushes away from Keith back into the water. He ducks below the surface - traces of the touch lingering on his scales.

_Did he just attack me?! Why would he do that??_

He glares up through the waves - seeing Keith's distorted image staring back from above and watching as the man makes a fist and moves it in small clockwise circles near his chest.

 _And what does_ that _mean?!_

Lance squints up at the blurry shape of the boy while the gesture repeats, sighing at his own lack of conviction to stay away as his head breaks the surface.

Keith looks relieved to see him, hand dropping back to his lap as he exhales and smiles. He then holds out his notebook - two words written for Lance to read.

**I'm sorry**

“Oh…” Lance hums, judging Keith's apology sincere. He pokes the rest of his body out of the water, leaning on his arms as he props against the rock. “You're forgiven then.”

Which is too easy, if Lance is being honest. If anything else had tried that move with him he would have bitten their head off. But Keith? Well...for some reason Lance has no desire to hurt him.

It's curious, but he allows the man a second chance.

 **Thank you,** Keith writes, placing a hand to his lips and lowering it in Lance's direction.

 _That_  one he's seen before - between lovers going their separate ways - but he doubts it holds the same meaning for Keith.

Unless it  _does_ , in which case Lance had just been blown a kiss. He feels his tail twitch, and hastily changes the subject.

“But...what were you trying to do, exactly?” he asks shyly, and Keith flushes, ducking his head as his pencil moves.

**Let's just say you're very ticklish.**

“Hmm,” Lance chews on his lower lip, wanting to pursue the topic but not daring in case Keith tries to do that thing with his fingers again. It had been a weird sensation that still lingers on his skin, like kelp dancing over his body when he swims too close to the forests, only with warm fingers instead of slimy, algae-coated weeds. It had been nice, almost, but overwhelming. “I'll take your word for it.”

Keith huffs contentedly, and then glances down at a watch on his wrist. His brows shoot up on his forehead, and he hastily writes something else in an empty spot on the page

**I’m late. I have to go.**

Lance is unexpectedly disappointed.

“Oh...really? So soon?”

Keith nods, hands moving in wide arcs and short gestures that Lance fails to grasp. So he goes ahead and voices his unease.

“Will you come back?”

Keith blinks down at him, ears a bright pink as he fights a smile and messily scrawls something down, holding out the book once done.

 _“‘If you want me to,’”_  Lance chuckles as he reads it out loud, pointed teeth fitting together as he stares over at Keith. “Only if you bring me a gummy bear.”

 **Deal,** Keith writes immediately, throwing him a thumbs up just in case.

“Then I'll be waiting right here,” Lance preens excitedly, turning over on his back to face the sun. He closes his eyes and folds his arms under his head, smiling to himself as Keith gathers his things and attempts wringing out his shirt. Lance almost feels like apologizing for getting him so wet, but in the end, he's not.

Humans have always looked better with their clothing clinging to their skin, and Keith is no exception. In fact, he's practically an  _example_ , and Lance licks his lips as he eyes toned pecs and chiseled abs that nearly rival his own.  

“And it better be a tasty one,” he adds when Keith catches him staring, “since I'm skipping dinner tonight.”

The man nods his agreement, waving cutely as he stands.

“You better come back,” Lance orders, and Keith pauses to rummage in his coat. “What are you-” but he cuts short as he's handed a bright red object - smooth and about the length of his finger - weighing the same as a clam. Lance stares down at it curiously, turning it over to see five letters chiseled into the side.

“ _‘Keith’_ ,” he reads, and then points up at the man. “That's you!”

Keith nods, taking back the object for a second. He slides part of it open, revealing a sharp, metal piece that glistens in the sunlight. Lance gasps when he sees it.

“A secret knife!”

 **A pocket knife,**  Keith writes in his notebook, handing the object back.  **I’ve had it for years.**

“And you're giving it to me?”

Keith grins, shaking his head as he answers.

**You can borrow it for now. That way you know I'll come back.**

“Oh. Okay!” Lance cheers, poking his finger against the pointy tip. It's not really sharp, but it’s pretty, and the bright red shell that hides it is not a colour Lance often sees. And when he  _does_  he typically avoids it, knowing red means fire or burning. He's been stung by urchins before. He knows that pain well.

But Keith's pocket knife is safe, and Lance wraps his fingers around it protectively after sliding the secret blade back into place.

“If you don't come back I'm keeping it forever,” he warns, and the man tilts his head to show he thinks that's fair. Or that's what Lance  _assumes_  he means. He doesn't risk asking in case he's wrong.

“So long then, Keith.”

The man stands, holding two fingers by his eyes and jutting them outward into an L shape - made by his index and thumb - that moves down towards Lance.

And then he waves, hopping the rocks back to shore and leaving Lance to wonder what he'd meant.

 _What a strange human,_  he thinks, but still watches him go, turning back onto his stomach to see the man lift his arm in a wide arc over his head several times in farewell once back on shore.

“Bye,” Lance murmurs with a snort, using his tail to mimic the gesture. Keith beams and takes off running until he's no longer visible, and Lance turns his attention back to the temporary gift he'd been entrusted with.

“A pocket knife,” he repeats, turning it over in his hands. His fingers trace over the name carved into the side, memorizing the feel of the letters against his skin. 

 _“Keith_ ,” he hums to himself, flipping out the blade with a soft smile. “You better come back.”

Lance stares at the spot where the man had left - stares until the waters turn pink and orange as the sun sets and the first stars begin to flicker overhead. And when the moon shines down on him in silver rays of light, Lance finally slips beneath the water and swims home, hand clasped tight around the promise Keith had made.

And though he returns without the meal he’d been expecting, Lance thinks he may have found something much better. Something much more fulfilling.

A friend, perhaps.

Or at least someone to bring him the fabled gummy bears.

Regardless, Lance eagerly awaits their next meeting, reminding himself to ask why his song had been about singing, and why someone with no words is so desperate to hear them. 


	23. Burn the Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt where the hero shows up beaten and bloodied at the villans door. 
> 
> TW: contains indirect mentions of sexual assault and violence. Read with caution if these themes upset you.

It’s a typical Sunday night.

 

Pajamas are on, the kettle is boiling, fairy lights are twinkling, Netflix is playing old episodes of The Office…

 

Lance sits at the kitchen table, perfectly at ease as he cleans his Barrett M82 and recites the plans for tomorrows heist. 

 

It’s simple enough: disable security, knock out the bodyguards, scale down to the twelfth floor, slip through the vents, wait approximately forty-three seconds to allow the gas to take effect, drop down from the ceiling, bypass the finger-print scanner, crack the codes on the locks, avoid detection by heat-sensing lasers, shimmy down the side shoot, land in the hidden room without disturbing any dust, creep over to the crawl-space leading under the floor, find the loose board, pry it open, loot the trophy room of valuables, and leave a note with his signature catchphrase scrawled in pen.

 

_Next time, burn the ends._

 

It’s a reference to the practice of preventing rope from fraying - a metaphor for flawed plans easily untangled by someone as skilled as himself. And, in a way, it’s a sort of taunt to the man the people with loose ends rely on to keep their lives functional - to keep their knots tight.

 

Because if there’s anything Lance loves most in the world, it’s tormenting the prestigious Keith Kogane - better known by the citizens of this city as The Needle - and seeing his face after finding out Lance, The Tailor himself, successfully robbed the forbidden archives just for shits and giggles is worth the hassle of all this preparation.

 

“Just you wait, Mullet,” he mutters to himself, tossing away his rag to marvel at the splendor that is his sniper rifle. “They’ll be in awe of me for _years!_ No more will this city celebrate the name- _”_

 

There’s a knock at his door just then - weak and hesitant - but Lance hears it regardless. He stands, adjusting his glasses as he grabs his wallet and tries not to salivate at the idea of warm, freshly-baked cheesy bread from the pizza shop a few blocks down.

 

 _Thank god for Skip the Dishes,_ he thinks smugly, preparing a tip for the speedy delivery as he slides open the lock. _And thank god for-_

 

“K-KEITH?!”

 

Because it’s not a delivery boy at his step with his order, but rather his arch-nemesis! Rival of all rivals! The Needle himself: goodest of good guys, Keith Kogane! Only...wow. He’s not looking all too good right now.

 

In fact, he looks pretty shit, if Lance is being honest. His usually tied back hair falls in loose clumps over his face, which is riddled with odd bruises and cuts that slowly ooze blood down his cheek and neck. And he’s hunched over - one arm clasping his middle as the other shakily returns to his side, smiling in relief as the light from Lance’s hall shines out into the night. 

 

“Hi,” he garbles, choking abruptly at the effort of such an easy word, and where Lance would usually laugh, or poke fun, or even ask what the hell is going on, all he can do is stand numbly in his doorframe and gape at the mess that is his foe. 

 

“What-” he manages after an _excruciatingly_ painful few seconds of dismay, “are you doing here?!” 

 

And then he remembers how he’s dressed, and what he looks like. Full-on Jenna Marbles leisuring over here, complete with pink UGG slippers, rainbow booty shorts he found in the clearance aisle of Target, a shirt that reads ‘daddy’s girl’ he stole from one of his flings, and his taped-together 70’s styled glasses! 

 

In other words: he’s the hand-me-down Ken doll of a four-year-old who hated Barbies growing up.

 

_What the fuck!?_

 

“Uh-” he clears his throat, hastily tossing his glasses across the room to salvage _some_ sort of pride. Not that he’s against wearing them, just that...this is _Keith!_ And giving Keith that type of ammo is just _asking_ for a front-pager into his personal life. The glasses are his disguise, like Superman, or anyone else who wears glasses and suddenly takes them off. 

 

“What...um...is all this-”

 

“Sorry,” Keith hushes, wiping his hand over his mouth as his coughing eases. It comes away red, and all at once he’s falling forward into Lance’s unprepared arms. 

 

 _Jesus!_ Lance shrieks internally, altering his footing to account for the sudden weight addition. _How come he’s so heavy?!_

 

“Sorry,” he hears repeated softly from somewhere by his chest - Keith’s head tipping dangerously until Lance is forced to- God. _Cradle_ it against his shoulder. “...Didn’t know where else to go…”

 

And...well, okay. Lame excuse but sure, it does the trick. Heartstrings pulled or whatever. But it doesn’t stop Lance from cursing the guy shamelessly as he staggers back into his house, shutting the door behind him with his foot. 

 

Keith is still conscious when he’s lowered - albeit _roughly_ \- down on the couch, which he makes known by moaning sufferably from the motion. Lance pauses, caught off guard by the sound he would otherwise cherish hearing. Because Keith in pain means he’s winning, right? Keith weak and pathetic and injured in his hands is a good thing. The Needle is his opposite: the light to his dark. The joy to his sorrow. The good to his bad. 

 

Or at least that’s what the tabloids say. 

 

But Lance doesn’t feel relief, or superiority, or even the inkling to try out his new villainous laugh as he stares in horror down at the husk that is Keith. Because he didn’t do this. He _wouldn’t_ do this, despite what the world seems to think. Their working relationship is more of a game. Harmless fun at the expense of the few who deserve it. And though Lance talks big when it comes to how he’ll devise a plan remarkable enough to best the hero everyone loves, he’d never let it go _this_ far.

 

After all, without a needle, the tailor is nothing. 

 

So he snaps out of his shock, hurrying to the kitchen for a clean towel and a bag of frozen strawberries, wrapping them up in a make-shift ice-pack.

 

“Here, put this on your head,” he instructs, handing it to Keith as he ogles the darkening bruise near his temple. But the boy does nothing but squeeze his eyes shut and groan weakly, biting into his lower lip and re-opening a cut there.

 

 _Shit,_ Lance falters, realizing there may be other wounds more pressing than blue and black skin. _Shit shit shit-_

 

_Oh...wait!_

 

He runs to the bathroom, rummaging frantically under his sink until he finds what he’s looking for: a first-aid kit. 

 

It’s old and unused - Lance’s sister having left it for him the last time she was up - but he praises her concern as he darts back to his living room to tend to his surprise guest. 

 

“Okay,” he begins, kneeling at Keith’s side and trying to keep calm as he eyes the tear stains that coat dirtied cheeks. _I’ve never seen him cry! Who the fuck made him cry?!_ But those are questions that can wait. “Where does it hurt.”

 

Keith makes a small grunt as his arm shifts from his middle, revealing a rather unpleasant gash that looks as if it’s been sealed shut by a super-heated blade. Which...yeah. It likely was, knowing The Needle. 

 

_What’s up with him and knives?!_

 

But Lance doesn’t waste time trying to answer that, instead going about lifting Keith’s shirt and tidying up the mess he’s made of himself. Or _someone_ made of himself. That’s another unknown that needs addressing.

 

_What happened?_

 

Keith makes no effort in hiding his pain - startling Lance a few times by shouting at random whenever his hands accidentally trace over a new bruise or cut he hadn’t seen before. And it’s not long after that Lance comes to the understanding that Keith was drugged.

 

He’s not sure by who, or by what, but judging from the unfocused staring and slurred speech, it was something strong enough to knock this hero on his ass.

 

But again, Lance feels no glory in that. It honestly makes him anxious - knowing there’s someone out there capable of doing this to another person. And to Keith? Keith: the city’s sweetheart. The people’s favourite loner. _The_ _Needle,_ for crying out loud! 

 

_Who the hell thought they had any right to hurt him like this?! What sort of self-entitled low-life scumbag pile of broken dildos thought this would be okay?!_

 

He stews in his anger as he works - leaving Keith with more bandaid than skin when he finally sits back on the floor. It’s almost midnight now - Netflix having shut-down after a failed response to ‘are you still watching?’ showing up on the screen. But it’s better this way. Lance can hear every noise Keith makes - from his soft whines to his heavy breathing to his uneven pulse racing recklessly in his throat - and it helps him find the places that might still hurt.

 

Still, despite his efforts, Keith has a long way to go before he’s fully healed, and as Lance watches him shiver on his couch, he wonders how many of the wounds he was left with will scar. And how many more will go untreated as future nightmares that no amount of polysporin can fix? 

 

 _He’s still shaking,_ Lance notices as he cleans up the bloodied tissues and wipes. Which leads him to retrieve his softest blanket from off his bed, as well as a glass of cold water and two T3’s he keeps in illegal supply, which he helps Keith take before tucking him safely under knitted wool. 

 

“Thanks,” Keith croaks once settled back on the couch cushions. His voice is stronger now, but only just. “I owe you one.”

 

“Pfft, as if I’d show up at _your_ door looking like this,” Lance answers suavely, but Keith’s resulting chuckle is hastily converted to a wince as sore ribs quiver, leaving Lance guilty that he’d relied on humour at a time like this. “Hey, easy now. Don’t hurt yourself.”

 

It takes a hot minute, but the colour slowly returns to Keith’s cheeks. Well, the _normal_ colour anyway. Lance doubts his ice-pack will do much good against the bruising threatening to take over Keith’s face. It’s hard to look at, but not because Lance is perturbed by such blemishes. 

 

Rather, he’s pissed that someone would dare hit such a lovely face. Risk screwing up such fine features. What if his nose had been broken? What then?! 

 

 _Not that it would matter,_ he hastily corrects, feeling his own cheeks begin to burn as he realizes what manner of thoughts had just sprinted across his mind. _Who cares what he looks like! We’re enemies. Rivals! And I’m the more handsome one anyway, so whatever!_

 

“Sorry…”

 

The word pulls him from his childish reassurances, and Lance glances back down to find Keith staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes. He looks ready to cry again, and Lance moves closer to his side to catch the tears should they fall. 

 

“It’s-hey,” he manages, feeling he’s playing his role as bad guy a bit needlessly. It’s no fun teasing if it goes unanswered. “I didn’t mean- uh...I mean, you just surprised me, is all. Why not go to the hospital? Or one of your friends? Why here? Why...why me?”

 

Keith takes his time in answering - so much so that Lance almost repeats the question after assuming he’d gone unheard - but eventually, the boy sighs and turns to face him.

 

“I didn’t have anyone else.”

 

Which is...what? 

 

“No one- but you’re _you!”_ Lance emphasizes by gesturing to him, just in case he forgot. “You’re the _hero!_ The good guy! Everyone looks up to you, and respects you, and...and they _love you!_ There’s no _way_ I was your only option!”

 

“Yeah, well,” and Keith breathes out a short, humourless laugh. ”You wouldn’t know how lonely being loved by everyone can be.”

 

_Oh...ouch man. Thanks._

 

“I guess not,” he mutters darkly, making to stand, but a sudden rustle has him looking back to find Keith staring up at him in shame.

 

“No, that’s not-” he breaks off with a pained gasp, the attempt at reaching out failed as his body collapses back down. And it’s pathetic really, how readily Lance returns to his position on the floor - knees tucked under himself as he leans over to check if Keith’s okay. 

 

“Fuck dude, don’t move around so much,” he chastises, eyeing the gauze to ensure none of it lifted off. “You’ll ruin all my hard work.”

 

“But it’s not what I meant,” Keith murmurs, struggling to control his breathing as he bites the side of his cheek. “It’s just...you’re the first person that came to mind. And I knew you’d help, because you’re too stubborn to accept victory over me like this. You wouldn’t consider it fair. So you’d nurse me back to health, and then face me properly, just like we always do.”

 

 _Shit…_ Lance flushes, tearing his gaze away. _Why is he right? How does he know me so well?_

 

But he finds himself chuckling gently regardless, shaking his head to ward off the fuzzy peaches growing in his stomach.

 

“Guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought,” he jests, but his grin fades as he eyes the sweat on Keith’s brow. He has a fever - if not a concussion - but he’s in no position to be moved just yet. Lance will call an ambulance in the morning if he shows no signs of improvement. But that just leads him right back to square one. “What happened?”

 

A long pause follows - Keith’s expression taking an array of forms, though none are good. He’s an open book like this, and Lance reads dread, and worry, and hurt, and unease…

 

It’s terrible. He hates this story. 

 

But it only gets worse.

 

“It was a fan,” Keith finally confesses, brows furrowed but relaxing as the pain medication kicks in. “He was nice at first but...he got a little too handsy, and my drink- I didn’t see when he put it in but-”

 

 _Fuck,_ Lance fumes, fists clenching at his sides as he puts the pieces together. But Keith doesn’t notice, continuing his story in drugged lethargy. 

 

“I tried to tell him no, but he wouldn’t listen. We fought, couldn’t see straight...got pretty messed up. Somehow I got away, ended up here. That’s it, really.”

 

He’s leaving out a lot of the details, but Lance doesn’t need to hear them out loud to guess what Keith went through. The hand marks on his arms, the small, round bruises on his neck, the tear in his lip and the way his clothing seems stretched and tattered…

 

 _It wasn’t just a fight,_ he concludes, feeling his stomach drop in sickening realization. He makes to stand, but a hand reaches for his own - Keith’s fingers wrapping loosely around his pinky as indigo eyes, blurry and unfocused as they are, scan over his face. 

 

“Where are you going?” he’s asked, trying not to feel the weird twitch in his gut at the tenderness in Keith’s voice. “Don’t leave-”

 

“Hey, shhh,” Lance eases, settling back to the floor at Keith’s side. He stares down at the fingers curled around his own, trying not to put too much thought into the way his rival relaxes immediately as he says: “I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

_Not yet, anyway._

 

But Keith doesn’t need to know about the rapidly forming plan taking shape in his head. He has enough information to work with - enough details to go by. He can find the guy who did this to Keith. Easily. And if it weren’t for the unsteady breathing at his ear as Keith drifts in and out of sleep, Lance would already be gone. Out to hunt. Out to kill.

 

Or at least maim. 

 

But he can wait a bit, if that’s what Keith wants. He can wait until the city is quiet, and the lights are all out, and the delivery boy who was supposed to show up an hour ago with his cheesy bread has gone to sleep. He can wait until Keith’s breathing evens-out, and his wounds stop bleeding, and his face loses the tension of fear that mares his features. 

 

He can wait for as long as it takes, until he’s able to merge with the shadows and do what he does best. 

 

 _It’s time to be The Tailor,_ he nods decisively when the time comes, detangling his hand from Keith’s. From his Needle. From the force that keeps him in check.

 

But with the hero down and out for the count, Lance has total control, and with a quick outfit change, he’s ready and vengeful. He slips out his front door, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty on his couch, and takes the safety off his gun.

 

 _Forgive me for leaving, Keith,_ he sends up to a skyscraper horizon. _But it’s time to be the bad guy._

 

And with that, he disappears into the night, ready to burn the ends. 


End file.
